


Lovebird Won't Stop Singing

by TrashGarbage (HolyCoconut)



Series: I Can’t Help but Fall for You [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Architect Ben Hanscom, Author Bill Denbrough, Comedian Richie Tozier, Derry (Stephen King) is Terrible, Dialogue Heavy, Fashion Designer Beverly Marsh, Hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, Lawyer Eddie Kaspbrak, Lawyer Stan Uris, Librarian Mike Hanlon, M/M, Openly Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Openly Gay Richie Tozier, Past Homophobia (Mentioned), Past Racism (Mentioned), Richie thinking he's funny, Stanley Uris Has OCD, yes Im serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCoconut/pseuds/TrashGarbage
Summary: “Is this some sort of practical joke, because I must admit, this is a lot of effort on something so useless.”Richie’s expression didn’t change. “It’s not a joke. Well, it sort of is. I want to have legal ownership of the Your Mom joke.”Stan blinked slowly. Then, his professional exterior cracked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Ben Hanscom & Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Mike Hanlon & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Series: I Can’t Help but Fall for You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607797
Comments: 53
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Excuse me?” He spit out, meeting Richie’s eyes over his laptop screen.  
> “What? Have you never been asked out before?”  
> Stan tried to remember the last time someone had. He couldn’t come up with a single credible example.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Mentions of Sex

Stanley really needed to buy better blinds. Ones that didn’t tilt to the side and allow thin strips of sunlight through. He could afford it, so why did he deal with the sun burning through his eyelids every morning?

Stan sat up, rubbing his eyes with thinly veiled annoyance. His eyes stuck together for a few moments, but they eventually cracked open. He turned away from the wide, open window beside his bed to shield himself from anymore eye strain as he slowly woke up.

After a few minutes, his alarm went off. Every day, he was up minutes before it, and he would hate it if he didn’t like getting up early.

Stan liked to look presentable before 6:30, which he supposed would be weird to other people his age. Stan was nearing twenty-four, and he’s gotten comments from friends and coworkers that he acts like he’s eighty.

With a long, deep sigh, Stan lifted himself out of bed and checked his phone for any work emails. There were a few, but he didn’t need to reply to them until he got to the office.

He walked over to his closet and opened the doors, pulling his suit off his hanger with gentle hands. He didn’t want the shirt to get wrinkled– while he had the time to iron it before work, he wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to do extra chores.

Stan took a moment to brush his hair out, making sure it was neat and not greasy, before buttoning his shirt up. Each button had to lay flat before he could move on to pulling up his pants. They were paired with a sleek black belt that had a shiny silver buckle. Stan tucked his shirt in, tightened his belt, and then breathed in deeply. 

He had to be certain he could breathe, otherwise he’d end up untucking his shirt in the middle of the day. Stan detested the mere thought of looking disheveled in front of his coworkers.

Stan pulled his suit jacket on, making sure it wasn’t getting caught in his belt or shirt collar. His hands smoothed it down three times on each side before he could move on. His heart beat refused to slow otherwise.

Finally, he slipped his shoes on, leaning close to his mirror to adjust his shirt again.

Then he checked his watch. 6:15. He still had time to grab breakfast and maybe coffee on his way in.

No, Stan thought, pulling at the bags under his eyes with disdain, Definitely coffee. Maybe makeup too, to cover those up.

Stanley carefully applied some concealer before sliding his leather briefcase over his shoulder. He opened the front door, taking his car key as he left. 

It didn’t take long to drive to the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf– it was only ten minutes from his house. The drive was quiet and calculated, and Stanley was content with that silence. There wasn’t a need for filling in the blanks when there was a lull in conversation, and Stan didn’t tend to listen to the radio. It disrupted the peace he got in the mornings.

By the time he arrived to the office, Stan was the perfect balance of energized and relaxed. He sat down and got to work, answering his emails first. Most of them were inquiries from clients on meeting, or to add another incident or stipulation to their case. Stanley finished that in no time as it tended to be busy work or tiny tasks that could be done without too much forethought.

Then, he dove into his actual cases. He needed to formulate an argument for Mrs. Katz, who was being accused of assaulting a police officer. The case relied on circumstantial evidence, so it was hard to say who was in the right. Regardless of that, deciding the outcome wasn’t Stan’s job. All he needed to do was defend Katz, and he was done.

Just as he was getting into writing his questions, there was a knock at the door. Stan looked up and Eddie was standing there. He was holding a coffee in a tight grip and he looked bone tired and ready to complain.

It wasn’t uncommon that Eddie showed up to quickly rant while Stan was working. Eddie worked mainly as a prosecutor, so he tended to handle civil cases. He usually had a divorce or financial situation to bitch about. Every time without fail, he genuinely got mad on his client’s behalf and that was what made Eddie so valuable.

“Someone’s requesting to see you?” Eddie scowled, taking a long sip from his mug.

That didn’t normally happen. Stan was usually called or emailed on taking a case, not met personally. They must be a celebrity of some kind. (And even if it was a celebrity, they never showed up. It was always their manager or close friend in their place.)

“Alright. And they told you because…?”

Eddie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “They thought I was you and burst into my office.” Then he stepped out, stomping down the hall to his own office. Stan rolled up his sleeves and moved to sit in the center of the desk instead of behind his laptop.

Seconds after, a man walked in. He was tall, gangly, and kind of reminded Stan of Jack from Nightmare before Christmas. Other than that, the man’s face didn’t make Stan think of a celebrity or anyone important. He had wild black curls and freckles covered nearly every inch of him.

“You’re here to see me?” He asked, just to make sure. The man smiled and nodded. His eyes were blocked by thick framed glasses that were chipped and smudged. Stan itched to clean them for him.

Instead, he gestured to the seat across from him. The man sat down and Stan outstretched his hand. “Stan Uris. And you are?”

“Richie Tozier.” He responded, shaking Stanley’s hand firmly. In his other hand, Richie held a thick packet. It had Case Brief written at the top of it and Stan nearly rolled his eyes.

“What did you come to ask about?” Stan leaned back a bit in his chair, keeping his hands firmly on the table in front of him.

“I wanted to hire you to take on my case.” He flapped the packet around dismissively. “I wondered if you could have a look at it?”

Stan almost told Richie that he specialized in public defense and not prosecution, but he held his tongue. He was intrigued to say the least.

“Sure, no problem.” Stan took it when it was offered and tried to flatten the once crisp corners of the page with his fingers as he checked that the formatting was correct.

BURBANK COURTHOUSE

TOZIER V. PEOPLE

“DEFENDANT’S MEMORANDUM OF POINTS AND AUTHORITIES DETAILING OWNERSHIP OF YOUR MOM”

Several things jumped out at him. Firstly, Richie seemed to want to sue the entirety of the US court system (which Stan was absolutely not qualified for.) Secondly, the title made Stan double take.

“I… I’m sorry, what exactly are you trying to prove?” Stan asked, setting the packet back down. It was heavier than it should’ve been judging by the title. “Is this some sort of practical joke, because I must admit, this is a lot of effort on something so useless.”

Richie’s expression didn’t change. “It’s not a joke. Well, it sort of is. I want to have legal ownership of the Your Mom joke.”

Stan blinked slowly. Then, his professional exterior cracked. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Stan did not cuss at work. And he certainly didn’t question a case given to him unless it was below his payrate.

Richie smiled, and Stan was sure he’s seen it before. “No, I swear. On God.” Richie pointed to the ceiling and Stan sighed.

“I’m Jewish and Atheist.” He answered, searching Richie with his eyes. “I can’t take this to actual court, sir.”

Richie fake sighed, like he didn’t see this coming. “Aw man! That sucks.” He didn’t move to leave and Stan shifted to get back on his computer, assuming that Richie would leave on his own. He did not.

“So if you’re not taking my case can I take you out to dinner?”

The question was so jarring and unexpected that Stan couldn’t form any words. He was at a loss.

“Excuse me?” He spit out, meeting Richie’s eyes over his laptop screen.

“What? Have you never been asked out before?”

Stan tried to remember the last time someone had. He couldn’t come up with a single credible example. “I’ve never been flirted with after I denied their Your Mom Joke case.” Okay, good, that technically wasn’t a lie.

“So that’s a no on the dinner?” Richie asked, as if there was any chance on G–d’s green fucking Earth that Stan would say yes. He looked at Richie again. The taller man’s eyes were a rich brown.

“What do you think?”

This time he actually seemed disappointed. “Damn. Maybe next time. I’ll get out of your hair!”

Richie let himself out, and the door shut behind him. Stan took a deep breath and finished his questions for his client and the plaintiff.  
Just as he printed it off, Eddie entered, looking a little more awake.

“You’re crazy, Stanny.” Eddie blurted, and Stan looked up at him.

“Okay?”

“Look, I heard the whole conversation dude. You should’ve totally gone for that!” Eddie smacked the back of his hand against his palm.

“Gone for a date with the Your Mom guy?” Stan drawled, and Eddie’s eyes blew wide.

“You don’t know who that is, huh?”

Stan scoffed. “No? I mean, I figured he was some sort of celebrity but I didn’t recognize him.”

“That was Richie Tozier!” Eddie said, and Stan sighed.

“I gathered.”

“No, Stan. _The_ Richie Tozier! The comedian?” Eddie looked like he was two seconds away from grabbing the front of Stan’s shirt and violently shaking him.

_Comedian makes sense. The case thing must’ve been for a future bit._

“Doesn’t ring a bell. You know I don’t watch trash tv, Eds.” Stan stood to grab his papers before someone else got them. “Come with me to the printer?”

Eddie nodded, but he also started talking as he followed closely beside Stanley. They were nearly hip to hip. “I really don’t get you Stan. You had a celebrity walk into your office spontaneously and ask you on a date. That’s something straight out of a romcom! Not to mention that he was hot as fuck, I mean seriously,”

They arrived at the printer room and Stan picked up his packet, straightening out the papers. He made sure they were perfectly aligned before stapling them together.

“Stanny, if that was me, I would’ve snatched him up, let me tell you.” Eddie paused to breathe and Stan snorted.

“Are you done?”

“Just about. Are you going to offer anything or is this going to be a monologue?”

Stan checked the time. “Wanna grab lunch?”

Eddie blinked, taken aback. “Don’t you usually work through lunch?” They started walking back to Stan’s office and Eddie searched Stan with his eyes.

“Yeah, but I figured we haven’t gone out in a while. Besides, I think you need some air.” Stan answered as they approached his door. He looked at Eds through the corner of his eye as he carefully slid his questions into the designated folder.

“Alright.” Eddie was immediately soothed– his face was relaxed and his cheeks were tinged light pink. “When?”

“Now? Unless you have anything pressing to attend to.”

“ _‘Pressing to attend to’_ , you sound like a fucking ninety year old.” Eddie mocked him with a high pitched voice even though Stan’s voice was significantly lower than Eddie’s.

“So, now?” Stan lifted his wallet from his briefcase and Eddie sighed.

“Sure. Do you wanna try that Poke place down the street? It just opened.”

Stan thought for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, why not.” Stan started to walk out and Eddie tapped him on the shoulder with just this side of too much force. Stan didn’t mind because he was used to it.

“Um? Hey asshole, I need to get my wallet.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it.” Stan opened the door and Eddie went quiet.

“Really Stan, it’s right in there,” Eddie pointed behind himself toward his office.

“I’ve got it. Let me treat you today.” This time when Stan gestured to leave, Eddie followed, looking a little dazed. His face was flushed and Stan felt a little prideful that he managed to get Eddie Kaspbrak of all people to let him pay.

…

“Stanley,” Eddie murmured, entering his office for the third time that day. He was using _that_ nickname, which meant he wanted something.

“Yeah Eds?” Stan answered, giving Eddie most of his attention. He subtly checked his watch, and noted that it was nearing 5:30. Eddie usually left around now, and Stan left the office when his boss physically made him. (So that could be any time from 7:00 to 8:30.)

“Would you mind driving me home?” Eddie asked with a soft voice. Stan knew what Eddie meant almost immediately. He checked his to do list and began closing tabs a little haphazardly.

“Give me a few to wrap everything up.” Stan kept his eyes trained on the screen. If he glanced in Eddie’s direction he might just abandon everything without closing it up properly. 

Eddie sighed. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Shit, Stan wasn’t planning on it.

Stan led Eddie out after locking his office. Eddie grabbed him by his tie when they got close enough to the car. Stan swallowed hard, leaning in so his tie wasn’t torn or wrinkled too badly.

“C’mon Stanley, are you nervous?” Eddie purred, twisting his fingers around the fabric and tugging him closer.

“Of course not.” Stan breathed. They’d done this dozens of times before.

The first time happened a few years ago after Eddie’s first civil case. Eddie had made the defense lawyer look sloppy and unprepared. The brunet practically ran circles around them, objecting to nearly everything they said before they finished a sentence. He’d torched the competition so viciously that the other lawyer cried and fell apart out of sheer embarrassment. (Stan decided that day that he never wanted to be on Eddie’s bad side.)

The resulting adrenaline high after winning the verdict shocked Stan to his core. Eddie was downright giddy, and used most of his energy roasting the opposing lawyer mercilessly. Stan had waited with him in the bathroom while Eddie habitually washed his hands. Stan wasn’t expecting Eddie to grab him by his lapels. Stan had been pinned to the wall as Eddie just took kiss after kiss. 

He couldn’t even complain about staining his clothes because Eddie was positively feral. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it, and that made Stan a little weak in the knees.

It became a thing between them, though there weren’t any strings attached. Eddie still went on dates frequently, and he often showed up in Stan’s office to complain or gush about them. His relationships never seemed to last long, which made Stan a little sad. Eddie deserved someone long term. (Though, he wasn’t sure if Eddie wanted that for himself.)

“Stanley.” Eddie snapped in front of his face and Stan blinked. “Jesus, did I melt your brain or something?”

“Little bit.” Stan murmured. Eddie smirked, his chest puffing up with pride. Then he pushed Stan to the driver’s side of the car.

“Come on, I’d like to be in a bed and not the back of your car, like last time.” Eddie slid into the passenger seat and Stan sucked in a deep breath, getting behind the wheel.

…

Eddie snored in his sleep. Loudly, like thunder.

Stan assumed he was the only friend of Eddie’s that knew, considering Eddie’s track record with past boyfriends. Eddie also cuddled like an octopus, wrapping his body around the other person completely.

Stan couldn’t complain. Eddie was warm and his blankets were weighted, keeping their body heat inside. 

Eddie made a soft noise and pressed his forehead against the back of Stan’s neck. Stanley hummed back, reaching over carefully to pull his phone from the nightstand. He made sure the brightness was all the way down before checking the time. It was nearing 9:30, which was thankfully when Stan usually went to sleep.

Unlike Stan, Eddie didn’t go to sleep before 11:00 unless he was exhausted. He also wasn’t an early riser, tending to show up at work late with an unhealthy amount of caffeine accompanying him. Eddie was going to be so pissed when his alarm went off at 5:45.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was one other person in the elevator, and Richie’s favorite thing was small talk. “Hey, are you here for Bev’s–” Richie’s words died in his throat. Stan Uris was standing there in a clean-cut suit, adjusting his cufflinks. Richie felt inferior in comparison, and if the time were right, he would’ve whistled or jokingly asked Stan to step on him.
> 
> Richie cleared his throat. “Stan, right?” He asked, like he didn’t already have Stan’s name tattooed on the inside of his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Claustrophobia/Panic Attack
> 
> Welcome back to Richie Tozier's new Netflix special: HELLEVATOR

“I made a lawyer lose it a couple days ago.” Richie began his set artfully as usual. The crowd burst into laughter just from seeing him. “It’s true, it’s true, I promise.” Richie twirled the mic cord around his finger as he spoke.

“Now, I’m gonna tell you the whole story. But I’m so excited right now, I’m gonna tell you the ending first, I’m gonna tell you the ending, and then we’re gonna Tarantino it.” The crowd laughed and Richie laughed a little with them. “We’re gonna go backwards in time through this joke, and we’re gonna figure out what _I_ did to make this guy say what he said to me, and this is what he said.” Richie practiced this delivery exactly twelve times in his bedroom mirror and three times backstage before actually performing it.

“This is what he said, and I quote,” He readied a Voice. “ ** _Are you fucking kidding me?_** ” Richie tried to perfect what he thought the other man sounded like. Stan Uris had gone from reasonably polite to downright shocked and horrified. It was absolutely beautiful to watch that transition.

As expected, the crowd exploded with shrieks of laughter and chatter. Richie didn’t struggle to talk over the noise. He was used to it. “Let’s go back, let’s go back. I know right, you’re like _What? What is it?_ Let’s figure it out.”

Richie smiled, lifting a water bottle to his lips as he waited for the screaming to die down. Then he started again. “So, here’s the beginning. I’m taking you all the way back to 1989, when I was in my Youth.” There was confused laughter coming from everyone. “I’m sure you all know just from looking at me that I was King of Your Mom jokes.”

Richie paced, feeling his adrenaline spike. He always did love attention. “One could even go as far as saying I… invented them?” Richie paused, two screaming girls from the back caught his attention.

“Now we’re fast forwarding to the present, keep up,” Richie winked at the crowd. He got light chuckles that time. Hm. Something was clearly wrong with his delivery. He’d have to edit this bit again. “Two weeks ago, I jerked awake at three in the morning. I realized that I _needed_ legal ownership of the joke.” This was all a lie. Richie continued anyway. “So there I was a few minutes later with a couple pages of a shittily written case brief, and I wondered, who the fuck would look at this and think I was sane?”

“Absolutely nobody, apparently.” Richie paused, and thankfully that part was a hit. “I find this guy online, get his office address, and I walk into the wrong door. I was nearly beat to death by this short dude before I realized it wasn’t the person I was looking for.” Richie held his hand up, miming that the man was nearly 4’9”, when in actuality he was probably a good few inches shorter than Richie.

“I walk in, the guy’s polite, he shakes my hand, sits me down. And then.” Richie chuckled, “Oh, _then_. I pulled it out. It was fifteen pages all about Your Mom.” Richie pulls the mic close, “I can see him eyeing it, and he’s looking from the packet to me, and I’m thinking _holy shit this guy is going to fucking kill me._ ”

The crowd erupted into laughter and applause, and it was so violent that Richie lost his composure again and chuckled a little bit. Voices were usually a favorite.

“So I wave it around, just so he sees how thick it is, and then I sort of,” Richie mimes throwing something. “Smack it down like that. He was still calm and polite, which was absolutely fantastic,” Richie pushes down a flush just thinking about how Stan Uris looked. “He asks me if he can read it, so of course I gleefully shove it into his hands like it’s Christmas Day.”

Originally, he put Chanukah, but his manager told him not everyone would personally understand, and since Christmas is shoved down everyone’s throats, it would be more inclusive. Richie wasn’t really jived about changing it but hey, he was barely allowed to write his own jokes anymore. He’ll take whatever he can get.

“This man’s face, holy shit. Let me tell you; it was fucking beautiful to witness. He started off looking passive, then it shifted to mild alarm, complete disbelief, and finally, absolute horror. It was amazing, I wish I got a picture.” Richie snapped and sighed jokingly, like he was actually upset. 

Richie waited the appropriate amount of time before continuing, falling into his routine of banter with the audience after he finished his story. His joke was, at best, 75% true.

Richie had been driving back from a meeting about two weeks ago. There was a billboard next to the freeway. Richie had meant to only glance at it, and then he nearly crashed his car.

It read: EVERYONE DESERVES A FAIR TRIAL. The name of the firm was written above that, and below... Christ, it might’ve been the prettiest man Richie had ever seen.  
He doesn’t usually describe men as pretty or cute, but _fuck_.

This one had angelic blond curls, thin gold glasses perched on his nose, his skin was flawless and unblemished, and everything he wore accented his body perfectly.  
Richie suddenly wanted to be arrested.

He could see the headline now, COMEDIAN RICHARD TOZIER COMMITS PETTY THEFT TO GET INTO A LAWYER’S PANTS.

Richie got home, and against his better judgement, the first thing he did was google the law firm. He searched through their website before finding him. His name was Stan Uris and he was drop dead gorgeous, even if he was wearing a dorky sweater vest.

Richie sucked in a deep breath, wrote down the address to the firm and then he began writing the monstrosity that scared Stan away.

Honestly, he didn’t think his pick-up line would work, but there was an excuse to see the man in person. To shake his hand and be in his presence for a moment, drinking in everything he could as subtly as humanly possible.

And sure, he saw the rejection coming, but it still stung. He’d kind of hoped Stan would be charmed by him for some reason.

Maybe it was his loneliness talking. Or the lust. He couldn’t really differentiate when it came to Stan.

Richie went to bed that day after writing down what happened so he could use it for a stupid bit. He hoped Stan would never see it– which was highly likely considering Stan didn’t seem to recognize him at all.

Richie spent the next couple days dicking around, doing some standup here and there, until it came time for one of Bev’s shows. She’s given him an invitation for it months ago, wanting to be sure that he could attend. She was apparently doing a preview for her next line, which meant it was really a friends only event. Richie’s fashion sense was garbage, but he was always willing to support her. Beverly was one of his closest friends– they grew up together. Him, Beverly, Bill, and Ben were the losers of their hometown, and Richie can’t remember a time he wasn’t with them.

That morning, Richie got up early to shower. He knew Bev wouldn’t appreciate it if he showed up looking dirty or like his usual crusty ass self. And if he thought about Mr. Public Defense in the shower, that was his problem.

He dressed semi-casually, pulling on his usual oversized denim jacket and graphic tee. He did pick a pair of black jeans that weren’t ripped though and made sure his boots weren’t too torn up.

Richie arrived at her building late in the afternoon. Bev didn’t like early morning showings, which she’s given excuses for in the past. Richie personally knows that Beverly is having affair with sleeping in late. She’s been a night owl since they were young.

Bev’s apartment building was sleek, modern, and almost exclusively glass. Richie entered, not being stopped by anyone. The security guards knew him by name. There was a small sign in the hallway with Beverly’s sweet cursive on it. She’d drawn an arrow pointing to the left, reading Twelfth Floor, and the arrow below pointing to the right said BOOZE, in Ben’s neat capitalized writing.

Richie could hear idle chatter and clinking glasses coming from the right. Clearly, she’d gotten permission to set up some sort of bar in the lobby.

Richie wisely picked the arrow to the elevator, not glancing up from his phone as he entered. He went to press the twelve button, when he noticed it was already lit up. There was one other person in the elevator, and Richie’s favorite thing was small talk.

“Hey, are you here for Bev’s–” Richie’s words died in his throat. Stan Uris was standing there in a clean-cut suit, adjusting his cufflinks. Richie felt inferior in comparison, and if the time were right, he would’ve whistled or jokingly asked Stan to step on him.

Stan looked up, long eyelashes framing icy blue eyes. His fingers fumbled when he recognized Richie, and he pursed his lips, his pupils darting around for somewhere else to look. Richie swallowed nervously.

Stan’s eyes had fixed on the screen displaying the floor numbers.

“Uh, long time no see?” Richie chuckled, watching the number 5 appear. Great, this would be awkward as fuck. Richie cleared his throat. “Stan, right?” He asked, like he didn’t already have Stan’s name tattooed on the inside of his brain.

“Yes.” Stan answered coldly. Richie hadn’t expected anything less.

“Uh, I’m Richie. You know–”

“The Your Mom guy. Yes, I remember.” Stan smoothed his hands over his sides, pressing down non-existent wrinkles. Richie chuckled uncomfortably. The stick up this guy’s ass must be 30 feet long.

“Nice to know I’m memor–” Richie wasn’t cut off by Stan or the tense vibe this time. The elevator jerked to a stop between floors 9 and 10, and then there was a grinding metallic noise above them.

Richie felt his breathing slow and he backed up, grabbing the handrail with his hands. The elevator shuddered, vibrating furiously in place before dropping.

Richie screamed, his hands slipping on the metal rail. He pushed himself up against the wall, feeling his legs give out beneath him. There was a loud crunching noise above them, like a spring snapped, and the elevator jumped– stopping abruptly.

Richie couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t know which floor they were on anymore.

“Oh my god, holy fuck, holy shit, oh my god oh my god,” Someone was mumbling frantically.

Richie’s hands slipped from the rail and he fell on his ass. He couldn’t even think about getting back up.

“Hey, hey, we’re fine, it’s stopped,” Someone whispered.

His hands were trembling, just like the elevator was a few moments ago. Fuck, he was trapped, he was stuck, it was going to close in on him and _he was stuck_ , he’ll never get out–

Someone cupped his cheeks and Richie took a breath like he’d resurfaced from being tossed in the ocean. The hands were cold, manicured, and smelled strongly of hand sanitizer.

“That’s it, just keep breathing, it’s gonna be fine. You’re going to be okay.”

Richie tried to listen, but everything was muffled. There was a low ding from the elevator and another metallic clang– from below them this time. Someone whimpered, and _oh_ , that was him making those noises.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It was just settling. It’s not going to drop again.”

Richie blinked, reaching up to wipe his face. Tears had been streaming down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” He choked, flicking stray tears to the side.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” The voice was smooth and comforting, and…

Richie looked up, _really looked_ , and his braincells finally started functioning. _Stan_ was holding him, kneeling on the elevator floor. His expensive looking slacks were picking up quite a bit of dust, and his jacket was wrinkled around his waist.

“Shit, sorry, sorry oh my god,” Richie smacked his hand over his mouth. How many times had he said _that_? Richie may not be particularly religious, and he doesn’t practice as intensely as other Jewish families in his area, but he was absolutely going to get shit from his rabbi for ‘taking the Lord’s name in vain.’ It was one of the few rules he promised that he wouldn’t break.

“It’s fine, I get it. It was scary.” Stan answered, not sounding remotely worried or scared. His voice brought Richie out of his second wave of panic.

“How many times did I,” Richie struggled to remember but he needed to know. “This is going to sound stupid and ridiculous but how many times did I say it?”

Stan’s eyebrows pressed together, and he studied Richie with his eyes. “Say what?”

Richie grumbled, looking away from Stan’s eyes. “The Lord’s name.” He struggled to not tack on ‘or whatever’ at the end. It would’ve preserved his dignity but gotten him more shit later on.

Stan hummed, looking skeptical. “Five or six times I think.”

Richie smacked himself in the forehead, gritting his teeth. Stan shifted so he was kneeling more comfortably. Richie struggled to not track the movement with his eyes. “Religious type?” Stan asked and Richie scoffed.

“Not really. My rabbi is just really fucking strict about this in particular and my Trashmouth can’t seem to handle one simple limit.” Richie ground his teeth together, the sharp pressure slowing his heartbeat a little bit.

“Trashmouth?” Stan prompted, moving so he could sit beside Richie instead of in front of him.

“Bill came up with it when we were younger.” Richie wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to breath shallowly.

“Who’s Bill?”

Richie answered instinctively. “Childhood friend. He’ll be ‘round tonight if he doesn’t flake on us again. He keeps saying shit about workshops and mentor meetings, but I think he just doesn’t like getting black out drunk with Beverly and I.”

“Beverly Marsh gets drunk at her own shows?” Stan asked, sounding uncomfortable. He must not have met Bev in person. (If he had, he wouldn’t be dressed so formally.)

“They’re more like parties when she does previews like this.” Richie noticed that his throat had relaxed. He could breathe easier.

“Would’ve been nice if Eddie told me that.” Stan huffed to himself.

“Is Eddie a friend of Bev’s?” Beverly hadn’t talked about an Eddie or a Stan recently, and when Bev meets new people, she gushes about them for hours. Beverly’s really blossomed into the social butterfly they knew she would be.

Derry had tried to stamp her fire out, but she didn’t let it stop her. Richie was really glad she didn’t. If anyone deserved to be in the spotlight, it was her.

“I suppose so. Eddie said something about meeting her in community college before he took the Bar. I guess they stayed in touch and well... here I am.” Stan smoothed his jacket out, turning his nose up at the wrinkles.

“Damn, community college, huh?” Richie mused, “That must’ve been a couple years ago.” Inside, Richie was plotting to whine to Bev for not introducing him to the brunet. Eddie had been feisty, stupidly cute, and foulmouthed. He was absolutely Richie’s type and Richie was going to give her hell for it.

“Yeah. Seems like just a second ago I was sitting the Bar.” Stan’s mouth twisted. “If I had to do it over again, I think I’d scream.”

Richie had not heard much about the Bar Exam; other than how stressful it was. “What’s it like?”

“Hell.” Stan spat out, leaning his head back on the elevator wall. His hair curled beautifully around his face and Richie swallowed hard. “I took the three-day version, but there’s been discussion over changing it to two.”

“It takes three days?” Richie asked, sincerely glad that he was comedically talented. He hasn’t had to take an exam in years, and he wasn’t planning on taking another for the rest of his life.

Stan opened his mouth to respond and the elevator shook. Richie grabbed onto Stan’s arm instinctively, curling into himself. The elevator door wrenched open and Richie relaxed.

Then he remembered himself and let go of Stan with a mumbled apology. Stan reassured him that it was fine.

Thankfully, they were sitting just below the 5th floor. The mechanic who forced the door open reached through the gap with both hands to pull them out. Stan patted him on his lower back.

“You first.” He murmured, gently pushing Richie forward.

Richie took the man’s hands and then he squeezed through the gap.

“Damn, you’re a lighter than you look.” The mechanic said humorously, and Richie forced a chuckle.

“I get that a lot.”

The mechanic seemed to struggle pulling Stan out, but eventually he managed. Stan brushed himself off, thanking the man profusely. Stan then turned to Richie.

“Should we take the stairs?” Stan asked, pointing behind himself to the door.

If Richie hadn’t decompressed, he would’ve laughed in Stan’s face and fucked off back home. Now he was feeling lighter, and a little more like himself.

“Lead the way, Stan the Man.” Richie had a nasty habit of assigning stupid nicknames to people. Though, Richie tends to only give them to people he likes. (He was so unbelievably screwed.)

“That’s new.” Stan commented, but didn’t say much else. He started up the staircase, keeping his hands out; like he was expecting Richie to fall or need sudden support. Richie flushed nervously, and his heart didn’t stop pounding until they got to Bev’s front door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You guys are a weird couple.”  
> “Like you have any right to judge on Weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Drunk Eddie  
> Short 1-2 Sentence describing an OCD induced episode  
> Flirting/Mentions of Sex

Stanley turned the door handle, immediately being hit with the sound of laughter and loud music. Richie had been right, it was being treated as a party.

He scanned the room, trying to ignore Richie’s presence close behind him, and then he heard loud, _familiar_ , shrieking laughter. 

Eddie was standing in the corner on the left side of the room, a blue cup held in both hands. He had a casual sweater and his usual short shorts on, paired with scuffed tennis shoes. And he was laughing at Stan.

Stan forgot himself, stomping over to the brunet with his nice black dress shoes. “You little shit!” Stan growled, knowing deep in his soul that Eddie did this on purpose. Stan tried to grab him but Eddie slipped out of his grasp just in time. He had a giddy smile on his face.

“You look like such a jackass!” Eddie cackled. Stan successfully picked him by the waist and the brunet reached out to hold him by his lapels. He was undoubtably wrinkling them to piss Stan off more.

“I hate you so much!” Stan lifted him off the ground, but Eddie just kept laughing.

“Aw! C’mon Stanny, don’t be mad!” Eddie’s cheeks looked red when they were this close, but Stan figured that was Eddie just being touch starved.

“You’re a cuck. I demand you make it up to me.” The blond huffed. Eddie gave him puppy eyes, and Stan cursed himself for being so easily manipulated. He relaxed his grip, letting Eddie’s feet touch the floor. Eddie didn’t let him go, keeping his hands firmly on Stan’s collar.

“I can’t promise that.” Eddie leaned closer, like he was going in for a kiss. Stan’s heart fluttered in his chest and he glanced around the room nervously. Then, like an asshole, Eddie laughed again and pulled away.

Stan took his hands off Eddie’s hips and coughed nervously. He adjusted his collar and his jacket from where Eddie had wrecked it. As he was smoothing the fabric down, he remembered who he walked in with. Stan turned around to look for him, but Richie Tozier was nowhere to be found.

He had blended in seamlessly– which; judging by who he was, wasn’t that surprising. Richie definitely seemed to be the partying type.

“Stan?” Eddie nudged him curiously.

“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, “I zoned out for a second.”

“More like a hot second, jesus Stan, I thought you were having a stroke.” Eddie sniped, taking a sip of his drink. He immediately winced.

“First drink of the night?”

Eddie grumbled, taking another small sip of the clear liquid. “Yeah. Didn’t want to get drunk before you showed up.” Eddie was the type to have a single glass of white wine and get instantly shitfaced.

“Figured.” Stan looked around the room for a bar of some sort. Within moments Eddie pushed a cup into his face. It smelled like rubbing alcohol and Stan scoffed. “Vodka, really?”

“Would you prefer boxed wine or _beer_?” Eddie looked at him pointedly, eyebrows raised into his hairline.

Stan rolled his eyes, but he drank anyway. Eds knew him well, and that was a power Stan can’t recall handing over.

After a few moments of companionable silence between the two, Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. It was a telltale sign that he needed something clarified.

“Why were you late? In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been late. Not once.” Eddie accused, narrowing his eyes. Stan simply scoffed in response, looking into his drink instead of at the other man. “Did something happen?”

“Why would you assume something happened?” Stan deflected. He was good at that.

“Because I know you, asshole. You would literally rather die than be five minutes late.” Eddie spit it all out at 300 mph, only briefly pausing to down the rest of his drink.  
Stan said nothing, thumbing the side of his cup instead.

Eddie elbowed him hard in the side.

“You’ll be jealous if I tell you.” Stan answered calmly, like it hadn’t been forced out of him.

Eddie groaned and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be angry if you _don’t_. Lot of buildup for nothing, Stanny.”

“You guys are a weird couple.”

Stan jumped, vodka nearly spilling from the mouth of his cup. Eddie chose to cuss loudly and turn toward the sound of the eavesdropper with an offending glare.

Richie Tozier had reappeared out of seemingly nowhere, leaning against the table behind them. Upon seeing who it was, Eddie dissolved.

“Um… I, well,” Eddie stammered, his jaw open wide enough to fit a golf ball in his mouth.

“Like you have any right to judge on Weird.” Stan answered smoothly. Eddie turned to him with wide, angry eyes. It translated to _Stanley, shut the fuck up Right Now._

Eddie’s expression faltered when Richie cackled in response. “Touché!”

Stan threw back the rest of his drink, trying to suppress the blush that wanted to rise on his cheeks. Richie did have a nice smile, even if it came off as mocking most of the time.

“Damn, going hard tonight huh?” Richie asked, his eyes glinting with interest behind thick frames. “It’s not a high school party.”

Stan decided to ignore that, dropping his empty cup in the small trashcan beside the couch.

“What about you?” Eddie blurted, which was just… Weird. “Are you… not drinking or something?” He took a minute to get his words out, and Stan realized Eddie was reaching tipsy. He must’ve gotten another cup when Stan wasn’t looking.

“Someone needs to babysit Bev and Bill.” Richie pointed toward two people in the middle of the ‘dance floor.’ The woman had short fiery-red curls, and Stan had to admit, she was one of the most beautiful people he had seen. Her eyes were bright, and they seemed to draw everyone in. The man laughing beside her was incredibly attractive as well, his wild auburn hair swept out of his face in thick waves. He had a lanky frame like Richie, but he actually filled it out better.

“So Bill showed up?” Stan asked conversationally.

“Yeah, shocker.” Richie rolled his eyes with a fond smile on his face.

“Did you guys… talk more?” Eddie blurted gracelessly, studying Stan with hazy eyes.

“Sure… ‘talked.’” Richie winked obnoxiously and made a lewd gesture. Stan let him do it. He had a sneaking suspicion that Richie didn’t want him to bring up his panic attack.

“We got stuck in the elevator. ‘S why I was late, Eds.” Stan supplied, fidgeting without anything to occupy his hands. He started fixing his hair out of habit, fiddling with the bobby pins sticking his yarmulke in place.

“ _Eds?_ What the fuck, where’s my cute ass nickname?” Richie interrupted, as Eddie was still processing the information in his tipsy state. 

“Would you like it if I started calling you Trashmouth, like everyone else?” Stan’s glare wasn’t as strong as he usually made it. It was ridiculous, but he could feel himself softening around the stupid comedian. Maybe it was the vodka.

“But that isn’t cute!” Richie whined, clasping his hands together. “Please Stan, Staniel, Stan the Man, Stan with the Plan–”

“Quit it,” Stan huffed quietly.

“Does Chee work?” Eddie mumbled, swaying nervously on his feet. His eyes were half-lidded, and Stan knew Eddie was edging toward fully drunk now. His words were strangely clear though, contradicting his body language completely. He must’ve been thinking for a while.

Richie cheered, “Oh, Eds you beautiful angel!”

The brunet’s cheeks went scarlet and Stan recognized that look immediately. Flirty drunk Eddie was gearing up to attack.

“Tread lightly Tozier,” Stan hissed– but he wasn’t fast enough.

“You’re the beautiful one,” Eddie nearly purred.

Richie choked on air. His cheeks went a similar shade of red and Stan rolled his eyes. He turned toward the bar; Might as well get plastered while his friend tries to fuck a celebrity.

Stan pulled a cup carefully from the stack and… And then he stopped. The cups weren’t stacked neatly enough.

He adjusted the tower, and after some careful deliberation, he divided it into two smaller ones. Air filled his lungs and Stan cursed himself for getting too caught up with little insignificant things.

He filled his cup with vodka and sprite, because Eddie was right. Everything else had no business going anywhere near his body. Stan turned back around, taking a sip from his cup. This time it went down easier.

He almost spit it back up when he saw Eddie plastered against Richie’s side with a hand curled in his hair. Eddie’s lips were curled up in a smirk as he wrapped his mouth around each word. Richie was nodding along, looking a little dazed.

Then he and Richie met eyes.

And Richie gently pushed Eddie off of him. Stan approached carefully, trying to break the eye contact. Richie wouldn’t let him.

“Hey, I’m sorry, is he usually like this when he drinks?” Richie asked with a hushed voice, like Eddie would actually be listening.

“Yeah. He’s a horny drunk.” Stan responded with his trademark flat voice. Richie winced.

“I’m so sorry… I was teasing earlier but you guys actually seem good together and having your boyfriend–”

Stan fumbled with his cup. “Eddie and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends.”

Richie looked shocked. “…Really? You’re not?”

“No. We aren’t. We did grow up together, so it’s a lot closer than an average friendship.” Stan did not bring up having sex with Eddie on the side considering Eddie was plastered and Stan doesn’t like talking about sex outside the bedroom.

“Oh, I get it.” Richie’s mouth morphed into an easy lopsided grin. His eyes were locked somewhere behind Stan, and the blond had a feeling he knew who Richie was looking at.

“Chee, I want attention,” Eddie whined from the couch. He was cuddled up with a throw pillow like a cat.

Richie looked at Stan nervously. “ _I don’t know what to do._ ” He mouthed, even though Eddie cannot even attempt to listen to their conversation in this state.

“I’ll take him home Richie, don’t worry. Watch your friends.” Stan reminded him, sidestepping into Eddie’s view. The brunet brightened.

“Stanley! When did you get here!” Eddie reached out for him and Stan rolled his eyes.

Someone was snickering behind him, and Stan glanced to see Richie laughing into his hand. “ _Stanley?_ ” He mouthed again with a grin that clearly communicated _That is the funniest fucking thing I have ever heard._

Stan flipped him off, lifting Eddie up at the same time. The brunet grabbed his lapels again and leaned his face into Stan’s neck.

“I’m sleepy,” Eddie mumbled, fisting the fabric in his hands. Stan tried to not be mad about it getting wrinkled and messed up.

“I know Eds,” Stan hummed, and then turned to meet eyes with Richie, who was still waiting there. “I think we’re gonna call a taxi. I don’t trust myself to drive.” He didn’t even feel a little bit tipsy, but Stan would never forgive himself if they got into a wreck or happened to be pulled over.

Richie gave him a thumbs up, and then he disappeared. That seemed to be the confirmation the taller man was looking for.

“Stanley, you’re so… s-so, pretty.” Eddie’s fingers made a home in his hair, pulling at individual corkscrew curls to watch them bounce back into shape. “I love your hair. I want babies that have your hair.”

Stan coughed, looking around to see if anyone was listening. “Sure thing Eds.”

“You promise?” Eddie whined, and– yeah. That was Eddie’s mouth on his neck. And not in the hot way. He was just mouthing at Stan’s skin because he was drunk and probably lost control of his motor skills.

“Mmhm, I promise, I’ll give you tons of babies with curly hair. Let’s get home first, okay?” Stan just finished talking when a dainty hand touched him on the shoulder.

“You guys are so cute,” A feminine voice commented. Stan craned his neck to look and Beverly Marsh was standing there with the sweetest smile on her face. She was even more beautiful up close.

“Ah. Thanks.” Stan commented stiffly, unsure how to act. He had no idea what kind of person Beverly was, but from what he’d heard she sounded nice enough.

“I worried about Eddie for a while with the whole… dating thing. But he seems to really like you.” Beverly’s smile became blinding then, and Stan flushed. He could tell Richie, but not her. Something was stopping him from disappointing this woman he’d never officially met.

“Don’t worry I’ve um…” Stan readjusted, holding Eddie a little closer. The brunet whined at the change. “I’ve got him.”

“Yeah.” She took her hand away, clasping them in front of herself. “You do.” Her voice was soft, and filled to the brim with gratitude. Then, her smile shifted into something more professional. “Thank you for coming with him tonight.”

“No problem.” Stan answered, feeling a little out of it.

He called a taxi outside with one hand, because Eddie refused to be dropped for even a moment. After little deliberation, Stan decided to just take Eddie home with him. He couldn’t afford two stops and he also didn’t have the patience.

Eddie could borrow his clothes and be pissy about it.

Three or so minutes passed and the car rolled up to them. Stan approached after checking the license plate to confirm it was the right car.

The woman asked for his name, and he gave it. Then she unlocked the doors and Stan had to wrestle a drunk and affectionate Eddie Kaspbrak into the seat beside him.

“Buckled up?” The woman asked, already pressing her foot on the gas.

Stan clipped the seatbelt over Eddie’s chest, and the brunet whined with annoyance. “Yes.” 

Stan preferred to not talk in taxis. He was socially awkward at best, cold and borderline mean at worst. It was better for him to just stay silent.

The ride was rocky, and the car smelled like cigarettes. Eddie lacked his usual impulse control, so he spent most of the drive whisper-yelling to Stan about lung cancer and second hand smoke. Stan didn’t even try to shut him up– he knew it would be a fruitless endeavor.

The car pulled up to Stan’s apartment and the woman said nothing but the price. She was undoubtably uncomfortable. Stan cracked open his wallet and handed over more money than necessary as a sorry for having to deal with them.

Stan carefully helped Eddie out, (the brunet had gotten tangled in his seatbelt), and then he gave a half assed goodbye and a thank you to the driver. She peeled off the second the door shut behind them both.

“Stanleyyy, what are we doing here?” Eddie giggled, trying to slip his hands into Stan’s suit. The blond obviously didn’t let him and searched for his key instead. “Are you kidnapping me? ‘S hot,”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you, Eds.” Stan fished his key out of his internal pocket and opened the door to the lobby. Eddie followed close behind, his chest just barely touching Stan’s back.

“What did you want to watch?” Eddie answered ‘innocently.’ If Stan didn’t know him well enough, he would’ve thought the flirtatious smirk on Eddie’s face was a regular smile.

Stan rolled his eyes and led the brunet to the elevator. Eddie seemed put out that the blond hadn’t responded, if his pout was anything to go by. Stan knew he was pissed when Eddie’s hand slipped beneath the hem of his jacket, sliding up his back.

“Eddie you’re drunk. We’re going upstairs and going to bed.” Stan made sure his voice was stern enough and Eddie crumpled like a piece of tinfoil.

“You’re so mean Stanny,” He whined, taking his hand anyway.

“I know Eds. I’m cold blooded.” Stan replied with a straight face. Eddie groaned and leaned his head back against the elevator wall.

“Evil. Vile nasty man.” Eddie grumbled, “You look like an angel but you’re actually Satan.” The quirk of his lips gave away that Eddie was really pleased with himself for that insult. “Satan Stan… Statan…” Eddie mumbled under his breath with a giggle.

Stan simply hummed his agreement, knowing if he said anything else Eddie would either not listen to it or talk over him with more ‘insults.’ The elevator came to a smooth stop (which was a relief), and Stan helped Eddie out. The brunet was still stumbling even though he only had a few vodka sodas. Dumbass.

“Stop smiling like that,” Eddie pressed his hand over Stan’s mouth with a frown.

“Like what?” Stan replied, taking Eddie’s hand off of him. It didn’t take much effort since Eddie was acting like his bones were rubber.

“Like a stupid idiot.” Eddie paused, tipping to the side so his head could lean on Stan’s shoulder. “Dumb… stupid head.”

They made it to Stan’s apartment and the blond pushed his doormat back into place with his shoe. It was always knocked away from his door by his neighbors, skewing it to one side. 

It wasn’t hard to unlock his door, but it was an interesting process getting Eddie inside.

First the brunet refused to come in, then he nearly tripped, he complained about Stan’s apartment not being clean enough (which was ridiculous because it was immaculate), and then Eds refused to wear the pajamas Stan had picked out for him because, “The shirt’s shade of blue is more wish-washied out than the pant’s shue… shade, I’m not wearin’ this, Stanley.”

Stan just forked over one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers, which was apparently more acceptable than a matching set of real pajamas. Eddie thankfully went to bed with little complaint, and Stan breathed a sigh of relief. He dressed himself, hanging his suit up on the left side of the closet to remind himself that it needed to be dry cleaned.  
When Stan finally got into bed, Eddie was already snoring loudly and stealing all the blankets.

_Thank Christ tomorrow is Saturday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its literally killing me splitting up the losers club but on god ill do it for the plot of this godforsaken story  
> For Reference they're split up like this:  
> Stan, Mike, Eddie / Ben, Beverly, Bill, Richie


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Damn Billiam are you already drunk or something? You decimated that vase like I decimated your mom.”  
> “Y-You know, I always th-thought you– you’d have new m-material by now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Drunk Eddie  
> Drunk Bill and Tipsy Beverly  
> Flirting  
> Self Loathing (For Flavor!)
> 
> Welcome back to Richie Tozier's new Netflix special: THINKING WITH YOUR DICK

“Beverly what the fuck!” Richie hissed, trying to get as far away from Stan as possible. The blond had been scanning the room and seemed to have found someone he knew, judging by the look on his face. Richie wondered who the fuck it could’ve been.

“Richie!” Beverly exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You made it!” She gave him an obnoxious kiss on his cheek and Richie groaned, jokingly trying to push her away.

“Hey, hands off! Your mans is right there you whore!” Richie gestured to Ben, who was smiling fondly into his cup.

Beverly just laughed in response and let go of him, retrieving her own drink from Ben’s other hand. He’d been holding onto it for her while she molested Richie.

“Wait a minute, I’m not done complaining!” Richie tried to slap her cup out of her hand, and she held it away from his reach with a laugh. “Why didn’t you introduce me to Eddie!”

“Eddie?” Beverly asked, her eyes sparking with recognition. “Are we talking about the same person? Short? Brunet?”

“Yes! The lawyer!” Richie groaned, dramatically rubbing his hands down the sides of his face. “He’s so cute Bev, this is a crime! You didn’t think to introduce him to the one gay person you knew?” Then something clicked. “Oh Christ, he’s straight isn’t he?”

Beverly cackled in response to his last question, so clearly that wasn’t true. “Is he married? Bev, this is a fucking tragedy I’m–”

“Richie! Look,” Beverly laughed, pointing through the crowd. Richie followed her hand with his eyes.

Eddie was being held by someone, the person’s hands firmly on his hips. They looked like they belonged there. Eddie was leaning in, tilting his head to the side.

Then Eddie pulled his head back and laughed. The person took their hands off him and turned to look around and. Stan Fucking Uris was the one holding him. They were both taken. Unbelievable.

“I didn’t introduce you because Eddie was always talking about ‘his friend Stan.’ I figured it was romantic, and–”

“You were right.” Richie finished with an annoyed groan.

“I always am, Rich, you know that.” She winked and took a long sip of her wine. Ben smiled at her lovingly, even though she was spilling wine down her chin. Richie mimed throwing up.

“Y’all nasty, for real.”

Ben chuckled at his outburst. “You’re just jealous Rich.” He’d gotten better at teasing since he’s known Richie. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“You’ve got me there, dude.” Richie huffed, turning to come face to face with the bar. “You’ve got me there.” He nearly made himself a drink but then Bill crashed in. Quite literally.

Bill’s clumsy ass broke a vase by Beverly’s door.

“Oh, sh-shit! Beverly, I-I’m s-s–” Bill cussed beneath his breath as he cleaned up the mess. “I’m so so-sorry.”

Beverly shook her head with a huff. “It’s fine Bill. Just make sure to buy me a new one when you make it big.” She helped him sweep it up as Bill stuttered out that she shouldn’t jinx it.

Bill had been working on a set of horror novels for years, and he always talked about meeting with editors or skipping out on parties and hang outs because he needed to ‘get back to the drawing board.’

“Damn Billiam are you already drunk or something? You decimated that vase like I decimated your mom.” Richie wrapped his arm around Bill’s shoulders and the brunet sighed.

“Y-You know, I always th-thought you– you’d have new m-material by now.”

“Ah, Bill.” Richie sighed wistfully, as if he wasn’t there. “The hopeless romantic. You knew that wish would never come true.”

Bill had just begun to respond when Richie remembered his Run In with Stan Uris. He cut Bill off to recount it, but that was nothing new. Richie took the lead in most conversations, since there was no one to shut him up.

“Wait so, let me get this straight,” Ben began, and he was promptly cut off.

“Gay, but go on.”

Ben rolled his eyes but continued nonetheless. “So, you saw this dude on a billboard, and thought ‘I have to write a fifteen-page joke case as an excuse to meet him?’”

“Hey, I didn’t judge your January embers shit. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“The difference between Ben’s beautiful poetry and the Your Mom case is Ben thinks with his heart and you think with your dick and your funny bone.” Beverly said, leaning over to take Ben’s arm. The man’s eyes went soft. He was so full of admiration and love for Beverly, wanting to be by her side no matter what. It was sickening. (Alright, maybe Richie was a little jealous. Lay off.)

“Okay, but you just admitted that I’m funny, so who’s the real loser here?” Richie asked, watching Bill down _another_ cup of beer under thirty seconds.

“You.” All three of his closest friends responded in synch.

Richie gasped and placed his hand over his chest. “Well I never. And I thought I loved you buffoons.” Richie used his best impression of what he imagines is a stuck-up British woman.

“Wow. I th-think tha-that one was the w-worst I’ve he-heard so far,” Bill was swaying slightly, and Richie knew he was ten seconds from grabbing one of them and leading them into the dance floor. Bill was definitely a social drunk; constantly wanting to be in the middle of the chaos.

Richie tried to think of a way out when he saw Stan and Eddie talking animatedly in the same corner they were in before. They don’t get around much, huh?

“You’re not my real friends!” Richie gasped as everyone laughed. “Traitorous scum, I’m going to engage with someone who appreciates my genius!”

“Good luck finding anyone here with a low enough IQ!” Beverly laughed. Riche laughed too, but he still fake stormed off over to Stan and Eddie’s private corner. There was a table behind them, and Richie thought it would be an excellent idea to lean up against it.

They barely noticed him as he walked behind them.

“You’ll be jealous if I tell you,” Stan said, somehow sounding perfectly calm and indignant at the same time.

“I’ll be angry if you _don’t_. Lot of buildup for nothing Stanny.” Eddie scoffed, narrowing his eyes at the blond, who didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it.

“You guys are a weird couple.” Richie wanted to smack himself. _Good going, Trashmouth._

Stan jumped, nearly spilling what looked like vodka all over himself.

“What the fuck?” Eddie hissed, a little too loudly. Eddie swiveled around to look at him and he just… deflated right in front of him. The brunet flushed, looking incredibly nervous. “Um… I, well,”

“Like you have any right to judge on Weird.” Stan replied, looking smug. _What the fuck. Why is he so hot– No, Richie, focus, you came here to Socialize, not thirst over them._

Richie laughed. (Did it sound weird? Was that his normal laugh? He couldn’t tell.) “Touché!” At his response, Eddie’s angry expression melted.

A beat passed and then Stan Fucking Uris, who dressed like a schoolboy, threw back his entire cup. Richie hoped it wasn’t straight vodka.

“Damn, going hard tonight huh?” Richie asked, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s not a high school party.” Richie really didn’t have any right to judge, he knew that, but he still had to comment.

Stan did not respond, looking around briefly before finding a trashcan to drop his cup in. Richie itched to joke with Stan by telling him he just put his trash in an art piece or something, but the timing didn’t seem right.

“What about you?” Eddie suddenly interrupted Richie’s train of thought. “Are you… not drinking or something?” He took a minute to get his words out. Richie would’ve joked about him being Bill’s brother if Bill was here and not fucking around in the middle of the dance floor.

“Someone needs to babysit Bev and Bill.” Richie pointed to his two very drunk friends. Bill more so than Beverly– He was laughing loudly and tripping over himself. That was a sure-fire sign that Bill would black out soon.

Stan and Eddie both followed where he’d pointed. To his surprise, Stan turned to meet his eyes properly.

“So, Bill showed up?” Stan asked, which made Richie feel high. When he first met Stan, he was professional if not cold and a little disconnected from the world around him. Now Stan was bringing up shit Richie had rambled about mid panic?

Richie didn’t think he’d actually listened. “Yeah, shocker.” He huffed, looking over at his friend, who was now trying to spin Beverly and failing miserably. It was cute, in the weird Bill Denbrough way.

“Did you guys… talk more?” Eddie blurted gracelessly, his eyes shifting to look at Stan for answers. Richie decided to open his mouth instead.

“Sure… ‘talked.’” Richie winked obnoxiously and made a lewd gesture. He was good at this; being annoying. Everything else? Not so much.

“We got stuck in the elevator. ‘S why I was late, Eds.” Stan supplied. He looked uncomfortable, and then he reached up to touch the bobby pins keeping his yarmulke in place. Richie didn’t really like wearing one outside of temple, so seeing it sitting so casually on Stan’s head was strange. Stan must be Conservative or something.

“ _Eds?_ What the fuck, where’s my cute ass nickname?” Richie tried to derail his own obsessive thoughts by bringing up something else entirely. It didn’t really work, because Richie was a perverted creep who wrote joke cases to fuck with lawyers.

“Would you like it if I started calling you Trashmouth, like everyone else?”

Oh fuck. That glare was kind of hot.

“But that isn’t cute!” Richie blushed, “Please Stan, Staniel, Stan the Man, Stan with the Plan–”

“Quit it,” Stan huffed quietly, cutting him off. Richie was rather proud of himself– he came up with most of those on the spot.

“Does Chee work?” Eddie asked suddenly, looking just as flushed as Richie felt.

“Oh, Eds you beautiful angel!” Richie cheered. He made sure he kept his hands to himself. (If it was any of the Losers, he would’ve thrown his arms around their shoulders and given them a stupid bear hug.)

Stan hissed something quietly, and Richie barely heard it. He couldn’t even ask what Stan said when Eddie made a soft, pleased noise.

“You’re the beautiful one,” Eddie purred, leaning right into Richie’s personal space. Richie choked. If he could’ve swallowed his own tongue, he would’ve right then. Eddie smelled like vodka and lemon. The lemon scent wasn’t sweet like a dessert though– it reminded Richie of lemon-scented disinfectant more than anything else.

“Um…” Richie looked around for Stan and saw the blond across the room, carefully separating the stack of cups into two towers.

Eddie took his hand and dragged him over to the small couch just to the left of them. He was immediately glued to Richie’s side, resting his head against Richie’s bicep. He couldn’t even reach Richie’s shoulder he was so short.

“You’re so cute Richie,” Eddie whined. “I was so jealous when you asked Stan out instead of me,”

“Eddie, you yelled at me for coming in.” Richie chuckled, not sure how to handle this drunk dude whose boyfriend was literally across the room.

“Well I was grumpy,” Eddie grumbled, which was SO CUTE, _Fucking hell Rich get ahold of yourself._ “Can you blame me?” A hand slid up Richie’s back to tangle in his hair. Richie shuddered nervously, shaking his head in response to Eddie’s question. His hair was his weakness.

Eddie giggled softly, nuzzling into his bicep as his fingers pulled and carded through his hair.

Thankfully Stan was reapproaching with a full cup. Richie detached Eddie from his side, and the brunet whined in annoyance while he did it.

Richie got to his feet, hoping he didn’t look like he wanted to steal Stan’s boyfriend. He felt guilty that Eddie latched onto him. “Hey, I’m sorry, is he usually like this when he drinks?” He kept his voice soft to avoid pissing Eddie off. The last thing he wanted to mess anything up further.

“Yeah. He’s a horny drunk.” Stan responded with a flat voice. His eyes looked tired and unimpressed. Richie winced, frowning at the blond.

“I’m… so sorry… I was teasing earlier but you guys actually seem good together and having your boyfriend–” Richie was interrupted by Stan nearly dropping his cup.

Stan looked at him with wide eyes. “Eddie and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends.”

Richie wanted to call bullshit so bad. “…Really? You’re not?” He wasn’t a fair judge of relationships, considering people keep thinking he’s fucking his three childhood friends, but he’d really thought…

“No. We aren’t. We did grow up together, so it’s a lot closer than an average friendship.” Stan’s voice held extreme No Homo vibes. Richie nodded in understanding, looking over Stan’s shoulder where Bill was spilling an entire drink into his lap. Beverly was cackling beside him and Ben handed him a thick stack of napkins.

“Oh, I get it.” He wanted to laugh at the scene developing behind Stan, but he wisely chose not to.

“Chee, I want attention,” Eddie sounded like a kicked puppy and Richie almost felt bad for leaving him alone on the couch.

Richie met Stan’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do.” He mouthed nervously, still not wanting to piss Eddie off. He seemed like the type to loudly complain when someone made him upset.

“I’ll take him home Richie, don’t worry. Watch your friends.” Stan reminded him, sidestepping into Eddie’s view. Richie turned to watch Eddie’s face brighten. (Not dating? Really?)

“Stanley! When did you get here!” Eddie reached out for him like a toddler and Stan smiled. It was a warm smile that seemed to be reserved for a choice few.

Richie stifled a laugh at Eddie’s nickname for him, and Stan glanced over to glare at him. “ _Stanley?_ ” He mouthed with a grin. He didn’t want to laugh loud enough to catch Eddie’s attention, but he honestly almost lost it when Stan flipped him off.

Stan lifted Eddie up, his hands securely wrapped around Eddie’s thighs. The brunet leaned into his neck, like this was routine.

Richie got caught up watching them for a moment, in awe at the way they interacted. It was like they were in a safe bubble where no one else mattered. Everyone else was secondary.

Stan turned, looking at him curiously. Richie could see the cogs turning in Stan’s head. The blond was probably thinking of what to say to make Richie fuck off. “I think we’re gonna call a taxi. I don’t trust myself to drive.” Stan looked at him with a frown and Richie gave him a thumbs up.

Then he ran away, wanting to punch himself in the face.

He found Ben and Bill in the bathroom. Bill was trying to wipe himself clean with napkins while Ben stood beside him, actually succeeding in getting the brunet dry.

“Hey gang, where’s the town sweetheart?” Richie of course, was referring to Bev. The fact that Ben and Bill immediately knew who he was talking about spoke volumes.

“I think she said she wanted to say goodbye to a few people. She sobered up a little bit, so I let her go.” Ben explained, squeezing part of Bill’s shirt for him. 

Richie nodded slowly in response, “Alright. I trust your judgement Haystack.”

Ben shook his head fondly. “It’s been years man, isn’t Haystack getting a bit old?”

Richie pointed at him confidently, “I will call you Haystack until I die. If Trashmouth and Big Bill get to stick, then so does Haystack.”

Ben snorted. “Okay, you’re the boss Funny man.” Damnit, he really was getting better at giving Richie little to no material to work with, huh?

“I miss the days where little oblivious Ben would give me openings for sex jokes.” He leaned over on the bathroom counter next to where Bill was sitting. “Those were golden years.”

“Really?” Ben asked, throwing a wad of napkins in the trash below the sink. “Back when we were getting spit on by the Bowers gang?”

“Hell yeah dude.” Richie winked, “One day I was lucky enough to have Henry spit in my mouth. I’ll cherish that moment forever.” Ben gagged and Richie started cackling loudly. He sounded like a dying animal.

“There you guys are!” Beverly said with her sweet as sugar voice, “I’ve been looking everywhere! Trust you to group together.”

“W-We travel in a p-pack Bev,” Bill said, attempting to sound wise, “It’s a s-survival t-t-t–” Bill paused, his nose wrinkling in annoyance. “FUCK!” He spit out, stopping the stutter in its tracks. “Tactic.” He continued on normally.

Beverly laughed, wiping her eyes. “Never change, Bill.”

Bill smiled stupidly.

Then Bev turned to Richie. “Hey, where’d you go? Bill got himself in a whole mess of trouble after you fucked off.”

“Spent some time with Stan and Eddie in the corner. Figured I’d already introduced myself and I might as well give it a shot socializing with them.” Richie shrugged. Ben looked at him knowingly.

“AKA, you were horny, and you wanted to devour them with your eyes?”

“Maybe.” Richie crossed his arms over his chest as his friends laughed.

“It’s weird that you mention them, I just saw them leaving,” Beverly started, and Richie nodded along with her. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t usually get mushy about other couples, but I’m really glad Eddie has Stan. He seems to know how to handle him. Not to mention how mature Stan is. It’s weird, but I’m really happy for them.” Beverly laughed softly.

“They’re dating?” Richie was getting too many mixed signals. “But Stan just–”

“Honey, I told you earlier, remember?” Beverly said slowly. “Did you have something to drink when I wasn’t looking?”

“I’m not drunk Bev.” Richie grumbled. “Just getting told thirty different things I guess.”

Beverly looked at him with concern and pity written all over her face. “Hey, let’s have a sleep over tonight. How does that sound?”

When Beverly had a plan, no one objected. After the party, they all joined Bev in her room, watching a movie on her TV. Beverly made popcorn but denied Bill’s plea for more booze. They all ended up dead asleep by the end of the night, Bev and Ben squished together on the bed while Bill and Richie stole the small couch in her room. Richie had to admit, Bill was good at spooning.

The bastard just had to be good at everything, didn’t he?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (1:56 PM) RICHIE TOZIER: for the record, your name in my phone is Stanyiel the Maniel  
> (2:15 PM) STAN URIS: Why would I need to know that?  
> (2:16 PM) RICHIE TOZIER: because it’s heehee funny  
> (2:17 PM) RICHIE TOZIER: duh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:
> 
> OCD Episode/Extended Panic Attack  
> Hypochondriasis  
> Tiny mention of Sex
> 
> \- im gonna be real with you chief; not much happens in this chapter-  
> Oh also, Fun Fact, I have finished all 12 chapters so I'm gonna be posting them weekly in pairs! (7+8, 9+10, etc etc)  
> hopefully i can actually post on time; please feel free to kick my ass in the comments if i don't

When Stan woke up, he was ice cold and shivering. Eddie had stolen the blankets, but Stan had somehow forgotten to turn the heater on before they went to bed.

Maybe he was drunker than he thought last night.

He turned his head, pulling his hair out of his eyes to read the alarm clock sitting on the dresser. Which… wasn’t there. Eddie had also stolen Stan’s side of the bed. Great.

Stan pushed up onto his elbows and craned his neck to read the alarm clock from across the bed. His eyes were still blurry from sleep, and Eddie was nearly blocking his view, but it was bright enough to read.

**6:30 AM.**

Stan decided he’d slept in enough and left Eddie in his warm cocoon to shower. His floors were cold too, and Stan tip toed slightly, jumping from the carpet in his bedroom to the rug laid out under the dining table a few feet away.

The blond steadied himself before hopping across the floor into the bathroom, hurriedly jumping to the bathmat in front of the shower once he was in there. Somehow, the tiles were colder than the wooden flooring in the hallway.

Stan stood in front of the shower in his robe, shaking slightly as he waited for the water to heat up. Damn Eddie and his impulse to become a human burrito.

After a few moments there was enough steam in the room for Stan to deem it acceptable. While he was in there, he tried to go over what happened the night before. His memories were fuzzy despite knowing he was sober enough to call a taxi and handle Drunk Eddie, which was always a challenge.

He’d gotten stuck in the elevator; Richie had come over to talk to them… that all seemed to check out. Eddie got wasted, because of course he did. Stan had to pull his flirty ass off Richie’s arm and… shit, Stan had not objected when Beverly talked about them dating. That was going to fuck some things up later.

And Eddie stumbled through his door, complained about his pajamas and… complained about the apartment being dirty.

Stan frowned and picked up his shampoo from its spot on the silver shower caddy. He pulled it through his curls as he tried to simultaneously think and shut his brain up.

Eddie had said his apartment was _dirty_.

Stan rinsed and grabbed his conditioner next, with a little more force than necessary.

_Dirty, everything was dirty, he needed to clean he needed to fix it_ –

Stanley tipped his head back, sliding the conditioner out of his hair until it didn’t feel greasy.

_GET OUT OF THE SHOWER AND CLEAN, EVERYTHING IS DISGUSTING EVEN EDDIE DOESN’T WANT TO BE HERE_ –

Stan wiped his face, reaching behind himself to make the shower colder. His head wouldn’t shut the fuck up. He wrenched the handle all the way to the left– as far as it would go. It felt like icicles were beating down on his back.

His head still wouldn’t shut up.

Stan turned it off abruptly, leaning forward to press his forehead against the shower wall.

_Can you imagine how much mold is on these walls? You haven’t been cleaning them enough, mold has definitely built up between the tiles. You need to fix it you need to do something Stanley_ –

The glass shower door was wrenched open, and Stan pulled his towel from its hook on the back of the bathroom door. He dried his hair first and then methodically moved down the rest of his body.

Just as he was considering wiping down the mirrors, there was a knock at the door. Stan wrapped the towel around himself and opened it, letting all the steam out. Eddie was standing there, Stan’s blanket around his shoulders. His comforter was Stan sized, not Eddie sized, so a good few feet of the blanket trailed across the hallway floor.

“You don’t normally take so long,” Eddie huffed, his lower lip pouting out just a little bit. He was right. Stan tended to keep his showers and baths on a strict time-sensitive schedule.

“Felt gross after last night.” Stan responds, trying to not think about how much dust and dirt his comforter was picking up from the ground. (He was failing. He was failing horribly.)

Eddie narrowed his eyes and studied him curiously. “Did I say something?”

Fuck him for being perceptive. “Why would you think that?” Stan walked past him, careful not to step on the edge of his comforter. He entered the kitchen and Eddie followed him.

“Well for one, you’re being weird. You’re a habitual person, Stanley.” Eddie listed off on his fingers, “You don’t fuck with your schedule unless something is bothering you. Secondly, I was drunk last night. I know I was drunk because I don’t remember fuck all and you let me steal all the blankets– Stop making coffee and listen to my intellectual nitpicking you asshole.”

Stan looked up from the kettle he had placed on the stove and sighed. He nodded at Eddie to continue.

“Anyway, you’re being weird around me. And you only do that if I screw up, so I can only conclude that I said something last night and you’re upset about it.” Eddie was squinting in Stan’s direction, but he could tell the brunet wasn’t actually looking at him. He was thinking. And Edward Kaspbrak thinking incredibly deeply about You is never a good thing.

Stan pulled the coffee beans from his pantry in lieu of saying anything. Did the countertop always look so… grimy? And dusty? And was there usually this much hair and dirt on the floor?

“There you go again, ignoring me.” Eddie mumbled, almost like Stan wasn’t supposed to hear it. Clever move, Stan wasn’t going to respond regardless. “C’mon Stan, what did I say?” Eddie paused. Stan had seen that exact look on his face in court countless times. It was Eddie for _there is a factor I hadn’t yet considered_. Usually it was bad news for the opposing council.

“…Did I do something?” Eddie asked, a little softer than he usually allowed.

“No.” Stan answered, because it wasn’t a lie. He pulled two mugs from his cabinet, one blue and one red. Then he sidestepped over to pick up the sugar and sweetener. Eddie followed him with his eyes.

“But I did say something that made you act…” Eddie gestured to Stan’s general space, “Like this?”

“It’s fine.” Stan replied, filling up both cups with coffee. He didn’t bother asking Eddie what he wanted in it, he always had the same. (Two sugars and a splash of milk.) When Eddie was late to work however, he drank straight instant coffee with five tablespoons of the instant mix and a cup of water. The mix calls for one tablespoon per cup, but Eddie can’t read.

He slid Eddie’s cup over to him when it was done and then he went about fixing his own. His movements were not so precise, and his hands shook around the carton of milk. When Stan turned to meet Eddie’s eyes, the brunet was quiet.

He had both hands wrapped around the red mug in front of him, and his eyebrows were pinched so close together that they looked like a unibrow.

“What?” Stan asked, bringing his own cup to his lips.

Eddie huffed quietly. “I feel bad, Stanley. I hate seeing you like this.”

Stan did not like brutal honesty this early in the morning. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Eddie grabbed Stan’s hand, gentling the mug out of his grip. “Can I touch you?” Shit. That was Eddie’s panic voice.

Stan frowned and looked away. Eddie stayed quiet, not moving his hand any further. He didn’t seem to be breathing either. Stan gave him a tiny imperceptible nod.

Eddie walked around the counter and pulled Stan in for a hug. His face was level with Stan’s neck, but it wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been with the height difference.

“I’m sorry.” It was hard for Eddie to say sorry. He wasn’t the type to apologize unless he sincerely believed he had seriously wronged or hurt Stan. 

Stan held onto him, leaning close to press his cheek against the side of Eddie’s head. “Said something about my apartment being dirty.” He mumbled, his chest feeling too tight to talk much louder.

Eddie gripped him harder and laughed a little bit, “You’re so fucking stupid. You know I get stupid when I drink Stan.”

“I know,” Stan sighed, “I know. But you also remembered all the effects of secondhand smoking when we were in the taxi. And you started talking about lung cancer in grotesque detail.”

Eddie laughed in response to that and Stan felt the tension in his shoulders loosen just a touch. “I just thought… since you seemed to be yourself just a little flirtier, that the apartment thing was… true too.”

“Again, you’re a fucking idiot. How can you be so smart, yet so dumb Stanley? How do you do it? Really, I’d love to know.”

Stan laughed, “Fuck off, Eds.”

…

Monday rolled around faster than Stan liked. He still showed up on time with perfectly combed hair and a neatly ironed suit as tired as he was. He worked through the morning and his first break, declining Eddie’s offer to go for a short walk outside the office.

He’d started sorting his paperwork when Eddie came in partially unannounced. He knocked on the door frame, and then burst in, grabbing Stan by the arm. He dragged Stan out to a café for lunch, which was a little annoying since Stan had shit to do.

“You need to eat, stupid.” Eddie rolled his eyes, showing his watch to Stan again, as if that would convince him to slow down for even a second. He thought about arguing more, but he had a feeling Eddie would win. Besides, he was already here.

“Fine, what were you thinking about having?”

Eddie scanned the menu, verbally ruling some things out because of an ‘allergy’ or some other health complication. _“Are you really getting that? It has almond milk in it! Wh-What? Are you kidding me? Do you really have no idea– Oh my god you stupid whore, growing almonds is so bad for the environment! Not to mention everything else that’s wrong with that drink, jesus Stan stop fucking around.”_

To appease the speed demon, Stan ordered a simple coke. Unfortunately for Stan, the coke came in a can. Eddie got pissed about that too, insisting that he wipe the top of the can for him. ( _You have no idea who touched that last. Did you know metal cans carry more bacteria than public toilet bowls? Didn’t you hear about the guy who died from Leptospirosis because of the dried rat urine on the can? Yes, I have credible sources, asshole._ )

When Eddie was finally satisfied and their food arrived, Stan popped open the top of the coke and took a sip. Or, he was about to before the soda started to spray all over the front of his shirt and his plate.

Stan stared at the mess in complete shock, holding a now empty can away from himself. Eddie got up to get napkins from the counter, but Stan couldn’t even focus on that.  
His shirt was ruined. His suit was ruined. His food had soda on it. Everything was covered. It was ruined it was ruined, it was his fault, everything was a mess, he did this,

His hair was dripping and sticky, his hands were sticking to the table, the soda was starting to dry, he couldn’t breathe–

A paper napkin came into view and Stan blinked. He opened his mouth to say, ‘Eddie, that’s not enough to clean everything up,’ but the words never got out. Richie Tozier was offering him a single white paper napkin to clean up a can’s worth of coke from himself, the table, and part of the floor.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Richie grinned goofily, “Damn, dejavu. Are you gonna take this or not?” Richie waved the napkin in his face and Stan grit his teeth. He thought this was a cute little joke. Panic scrambled his brain and Stan sat there, struggling to start talking.

“That’s not enough to clean up this mess I made, dumbass.” Stan’s voice was shaking too much to be mean. He couldn’t take his hand off the can. His fingers were stuck to it.

Eddie came back with a thick stack of napkins and a small hand towel, and he studied the current situation with his eyes before dropping the napkins to the table. He laid out a few to soak up the soda and Stan felt like crying.

He was frozen in place, sticky and disgusting and dirty, and Eddie had to clean up his mess. Like Stan was some sort of toddler. All Stan could do was watch.

Eddie handed him a few napkins, looking at him with worry clear in his eyes.

“Am I missing something?” Richie asked, tilting his head to the side. In his perspective, this was just a spill. Unfortunate, but not crisis worthy.

Stan let out a shaky breath, trying to get his mind on track. Eddie answered for him. “His clothes.”

Richie, who was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for, nodded in understanding and helped mop the floor as Eddie picked up the scattered pieces of Stanley Uris. 

Stan was not the bravest person. He broke more often than he bent, and panic just stirred him up more until he splintered.

“You’re fine.” Eddie shushed, as Stan really tried not to cry in the middle of a crowded café. His head was buzzing, and his clothes were sticking to his heaving chest, but it wasn’t like he could strip right here right now.

Within a few minutes the floor and table were clean, and his food was situated– the café gave him another plate on the house at Eddie’s insistence. That just left Stan himself. No amount of rubbing and pulling could dry his shirt. His jacket was pulled off and thrown over the back of Stan’s chair by Eddie when he noticed Stan’s growing irritation.

His shirt was still disgusting. His jacket needed to be dry cleaned– what is he thinking, his whole suit should be washed. His pants couldn’t have come out of this completely unscathed, either. His shoes were sticky too, he needed to scrub them or do _something_ just to get the soda off the soles–

“Stan, you’re fine.” Eddie murmured when Stan’s breathing started to pick up again. “The mess is gone.”

Stan gestured to his shirt; his stomach twisting painfully with nerves.

Richie sighed, which got his attention immediately. He pulled his overshirt off, folding it in half. It was a red button down with white gaudy palm trees stamped along the fabric. “Would this work for a shirt? I know it’s not that formal but it’s long sleeved.”

Stan bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Eddie looked over at Richie and nodded to himself, taking his jacket off. He handed that to Stan as well, neatly folded.

“There’s a bathroom here. Go get changed.” His voice communicated that he wasn’t messing around. Stan took the jacket and shirt with a shaky nod and an awkward thank you.

He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so good. Yeah, sex was fine, but have you ever stripped off a dirty shirt and pulled on a new one after an hour of gut-wrenching panic?

When Stan returned, Richie’s t-shirt tucked neatly into his pants, he noticed a third chair at their table. Eddie must’ve convinced Richie to sit with them while Stan was gone, probably as a thank you for the help.

It was a wonder how Eddie went from being completely star struck to joking and talking to Richie like he’d known him his whole life. Maybe Richie just had that effect on people. He did treat small talk like his civil duty instead of a grievance. ( _Which Stan still couldn’t wrap his head around, I mean, jesus, how can someone be so excited to talk to anyone? Much less a stranger?_ )

Stan watched them interact while he ate, trying to figure out if he was jealous or still a little panicked from the soda situation. Perhaps it was a mix of both. Perhaps it was an entirely new emotion.

Whatever it was, it kept Stan from thinking about the shirt he was wearing, or the slightly too tight jacket buttoned up over his chest. He pressed the button in and out a couple times, undoing and redoing it until he felt like he had some sort of control over himself.

Listening to Eddie and Richie talk helped him more than he thought it would; by the end of the lunch he was relaxed in his seat and occasionally slipping into conversation.

Eddie checked his watch after a while and looked comically panicked. “Ah shit, we went way over our break.” He stood, cleaning up the tiny stack of trash left over from his lunch. Richie, who was sitting beside him, seemed to have a mountain of plastic, napkins, and other disposable packages piled on top of his plate.

“C’mon Stan we have to get going,” Eddie mumbled, continuing to check his watch every three seconds even though he knew the time already.

Stan simply nodded, standing up and stacking his own mess.

They were about to sprint out the door when Richie called out to them, “Hey! Uh, before you go could I have your number?”

Eddie paused, frowning. “Whose?”

“Either? Both?” Richie shrugged, like it didn’t really matter to him. Stan had a feeling like it really really did and Richie was just burying it way down.

Eddie looked at him and Stan nodded, wondering why this had to be debated. A few taps later, (and Eddie complaining about Richie’s preference for iPhones when Androids were _clearly_ superior,) and they all had each other’s numbers.

Then Eddie practically ran, leaving a 5’4” shaped cloud in his wake. Stan followed close behind, trying to not think about the shirt that was so obviously not his.

They’d just got back in the office when Stan’s phone pinged.

(1:56 PM) RICHIE TOZIER: for the record, your name in my phone is Stanyiel the Maniel

Stan tried not to laugh and situated himself back in his office, logging into his computer and getting everything open before looking at the text again. He decided to humor the other man.

(2:15 PM) STAN URIS: Why would I need to know that?  
(2:16 PM) RICHIE TOZIER: because it’s heehee funny  
(2:17 PM) RICHIE TOZIER: duh

Stan rolled his eyes and changed Richie’s name in his phone. If Stan was getting a stupid nickname in Richie’s phone the other man should get it just as bad.

(2:17 PM) STAN URIS: You’re one strange person, Richie.  
(2:18 PM) YOUR MOM: You know you love it Stanley ;))


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Beep Beep, huh?”  
> “Yuck stop, you’re killing my boner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> The Usual Self Loathing  
> Short Gay 'joke' that Richie makes at his own expense  
> Excessive Swearing
> 
> Welcome back to Richie Tozier's new Netflix special: EXPERT OF THE GAY

“I’m telling you Bev; I’m getting so many mixed signals.” Richie whined on the phone, having just recounted the soda incident at the café on Monday. Eddie had bullied Richie into sitting with them at lunch, even though Richie really didn’t need to be there. He was just an acquaintance after all, why would Eddie feel inclined to include him?

“That does sound weird.” Beverly hummed. Richie heard pencil against paper in the background. She must be sketching designs for her fall line.

“I don’t understand why Stan would tell me they’re just friends and then turn around and tell you the opposite.” Richie ran his hands through his hair frustratedly. “Like, does he want to cheat on Eddie? Or is their relationship more complicated than they’re letting on?”

Beverly hummed again softly, to show she was listening. “Maybe he just didn’t tell me the truth. I did come on kind of strong if I remember correctly.”

That checked out. “You are an emotional drunk.” Richie commented, “Do you think you cried in front of them or something?”

“No, I was just overly sappy.” She paused. “I think. Could you ask? Now I’m nervous.” She chuckled, and the pencil sounds ceased for a second.

“Sure. I’ll just bust into his office again and go _‘Hey, remember me? I’m the fool that tried to bone you using Your Mom as a pickup line! Could you do me a quick favor? Did my friend Beverly cry in front of you over you dicking Eddie down? That would be really cool, thanks.’_ ” Richie scoffed. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. I already fucked things up spectacularly with them.”

“Well, you were always good at that.” Beverly laughed, and Richie knew it was a joke. “Really though, I doubt you’ve fucked up as much as you think you have.”

“I offered him a single napkin during the soda thing, and he looked like he wanted to deck me in the mouth, Bev.” Richie reminded her, pacing around his apartment. Outside, the sun was setting. Richie walked out onto his balcony to watch it. It wasn’t going to take his mind off anything, but it was nice to think that it might, even for a moment.

“You couldn’t have known that messes were such a big deal to him. If it was Bill–”

“If it was Bill he would’ve laughed and punched me in the stomach before getting Ben to actually help him.”

Beverly paused, “Fair point. But still, you’re used to being around us. If it was any of us it would’ve been funny. You just need to adjust to their dynamic, that’s all.”

Richie sighed heavily, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes.

“And you’re really good at that.” Beverly added sweetly. “I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in no time, Rich.” Beverly never failed to bring a smile to his face.

“Bet.” Richie said instead of anything sweet or kind. Beverly snorted, and Richie heard a page turn in her sketchbook.

“It’s gonna be fine. And if it doesn’t turn out okay, you always have us.”

“Yeah, yeah, Losers stick together or whatever.” Richie tried to sound nonchalant and dismissive, but it was hard when Bev was this soft and easy to talk to. “Love you.”

“Love you Richie. Remember to call for non-drama too!” Beverly made a soft kiss noise into the phone and then hung up. It was a tradition in the Losers Club to hang up when someone was in the middle of talking or before they had a chance to respond.

He was sure if he pulled something like that on Stan or Eddie, they’d have aneurysms. As nice as they were, they’re relatively uptight too. (Okay, maybe they weren’t even nice all the time either.)

Eddie was certainly interesting to talk to. Richie liked how easily he got pissed off, because it just gave Richie a chance to tease more. Eddie gave as good as he got, and Richie didn’t know anyone else who was so willing to volley off his trash talk. Eddie was uptight for sure, but he was much easier to talk to. He was nervous about easier things to avoid. Richie didn’t mention disease in normal conversations, so Eddie was normally comfortable around him. Stan on the other hand…

Stan was… cold. Richie had been scared to interact with him again, but then the elevator situation happened and Stan kind of loosened up. He’d comforted Richie even when he didn’t have to, and Richie felt that had to show Stan’s true colors over any of their previous interactions. It made Richie want to see more of what he hid underneath the fake mean exterior.

Richie really hoped he could get Stan to just… relax a little. Maybe laugh.

Richie liked making people laugh, if that wasn’t already clear. Stan was someone who just _Really_ needed Richie’s shitty humor. 

On the other hand though, the taller man was terrified that his constant pestering would scare Stan away. He was sure he’d already done that, anyway.

Any more pushing and Richie was certainly done for.

…

(12:51 PM) BIG BILL: Hey TrASShmouth!!  
(12:51 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: are you drunk or smthin idiot  
(12:52 PM) BIG BILL: Rude!!!  
(12:52 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: ok and  
(12:53 PM) BIG BILL: Come with me to the park.

(12:53 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: oooo Billiam’s breaking out the perfect grammar. nervous?  
(12:53 PM) BIG BILL: Yeah.

Richie stared at his phone in confusion, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

(12:55 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: whats up???  
(12:55 PM) BIG BILL: Gjfhdkjfk. I… have a date.  
(12:55 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: ok?? you’ve been on dates b4, crybaby  
(12:55 PM) BIG BILL: Richie this is different! Also I might’ve thrown you under the bus and said you had a date too. Double date @ Woodley @ 3:00 today  
(12:56 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: i fucking hate you  
(12:56 PM) BIG BILL: So you’ll be there???  
(12:56 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: yeah. fucker.  
(12:56 PM) BIG BILL: !!! Love you buddy! You’re the best! ♥  
(12:57 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: yeah yeah, you owe me

Richie sighed and exited his personal messages with Bill. Who would be willing to fake date him for a day? Beverly would’ve, but she has a real date with Ben today, so they’re both out. Richie scrolled through his phone contacts nervously.

He couldn’t ask any of his coworkers and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask his manager. Richie took a deep breath and opened Stan’s contact. Worst comes to worst; he’ll pretend he was stood up and dip so he doesn’t have to third wheel. Bill will be pissed but he’ll get over it.

(1:05 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: hey so my friend is an asshole  
(1:06 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: Okay? What do you want me to do about that.  
(1:07 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: b4 i ask for the favor remember that u love me and im the best  
(1:07 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: Debatable.  
(1:08 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: bill dumped a double date thing on me. i need a date or hes gonna fillet my ass  
(1:08 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: Sounds tragic.  
(1:08 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: please be my date! its fake tho so promise you wont fall in love with me ok ;)  
(1:09 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: When and where?

Richie didn’t expect him to agree so quickly. He was also hoping Stan would yell at him for the winky face, but luck was clearly not on his side today.

(1:09 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: i owe you my life. its @ 3:00 @ woodley park   
(1:10 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: What day?  
(1:10 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: today please don’t b mad stanely bill just dropped it on me. we’re the same u and i. two peas in a pod  
(1:11 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: Jesus Christ. I’ll see you there but don’t expect me to be both on time and good looking. Also, would it kill you to use a single comma?  
(1:11 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: stan, u, could, jump,, in, a, dumpster, and,,, id, still, think, ur, handsome ;)) (was that enough commas 4 u stanley?? do u love me yet)  
(1:12 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: Ha. Ha.

Well, Richie was fucked! Cool! He’s going to kick Bill’s ass if this fake double date causes Stan to never talk to him again.

Richie rushed to take a shower once everything was sorted, angrily scrubbing two-in-one shampoo and conditioner into his hair. Richie considered himself an optimist, but come on, he couldn’t reasonably be excited for this! Stan would spend the whole time hating his guts and then Richie would find his number blocked at the end of it. Maybe he’d get a neat little restraining order to frame too!

Richie stepped out of the shower, quickly toweling himself off. He wasn’t going to bother dressing up for this, considering Stan knew he was a fuckup already. (Plus, Bill would give him shit if he looked better than him.)

He pulled on his usual denim jacket over a pattered shirt, popping the collar up a bit before tugging his jeans on. They were standard; torn at the knees and cuffed below the ankle so everyone knew he sucked dick. Hopefully he was making Bill look good by looking like trash garbage.

Once he was ready, he checked his phone. He had just enough time to get to the park– if there wasn’t any traffic. He drove with a few minutes to spare, texting Bill every time he stopped at a light.

(2:45 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: i expect something amazing in return for my service today  
(2:45 PM) BIG BILL: Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it provided that it wont kill me or you  
(2:48 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: damn. that rules so much shit out. ur no fun  
(2:48 PM) BIG BILL: IT SHOULDN’T!!  
(2:48 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: get me a bouncy house and firecrackers  
(2:48 PM) BIG BILL: I wont simply because you asked for both at the same time

FUCKFACE TOZIER changed BIG BILL’s nickname to BOOMER.

(2:49 PM) BOOMER: Real funny rich. You better be on time  
(2:52 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: ok boomer get off my dick

Richie parked in the lot outside the entrance, looking for Bill’s car. It was silver and had an ungodly number of bumper stickers on it, so it was hard to miss. Richie found it immediately, and with it he found Bill. Who grabbed onto him immediately. 

“Richie, I owe y-you,” Bill promised again, hugging him tightly. Richie feigned annoyance.

“Yeah, whatever idiot. Where’s your date? Is she hot?” Richie looked around and Bill chuckled nervously.

“R-Rich, um, it-it’s a d-dude.”

_Oh._ So this was what made it different. Bill had never dated a guy before.

“Oh.” Richie said dumbly. “So, this is _new_ new.”

“Yeah, w-why else would I m-make you come with me!” Bill looked at Richie like he was the stupidest motherfucker on the planet. “Look, I j-just wanted it to, to go w-we-well and you um, you’re the expert wh-when it comes t-to… this.”

“Fancy that, little old me, An Expert of the Gay.” Richie used the British guy voice and Bill groaned.

“I take it b-back, go home. You’ll only m-make it worse.” Bill shoved his shoulder playfully. He looked like he was panicking beneath the joking, so Richie decided to go easy on him.

“Hey, I can’t go now. Stan already said he’d be my fake date.” 

Bill blinked in surprise, and then he smiled teasingly. “Is it the same Stan from Bev’s show?” The asshole didn’t even stutter.

“Fuck off Denbrough or I’m gonna start making your mom jokes in front of your date.” Richie pointed at him threateningly and Bill raised his hands up.

“F-Fine! I’ll l-lay off.” Bill smiled at him. “For now.”

“You’re such a shit.” Richie was just about to threaten to call Bill’s mom and tell on him when someone cleared their throat behind them. Richie jumped about 30 feet in the air and swiftly turned.

Stan was _stan_ ding there, dressed as dorkily as Richie expected. He was wearing a sweater vest tucked into a pair of khaki pants, and… were those binoculars around his neck? What the fuck. (Richie wanted to laugh but he didn’t out of self-preservation.)

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Stan said with a friendlier voice than Richie expected. He held his hand out to Bill and the redhead took it with a smile. The purity was fucking blinding.

“N-No we haven’t! Stan, r-right?” Bill winced softly after he finished talking, and Richie knew he was beating himself up for stuttering in front of a new person.

“That’s right. Richie’s told me a lot about you.”

Bill side eyed him, and Richie made a show of looking away and whistling beneath his breath.

“N-Nice th-things, I hope?” Bill asked, still looking at Richie accusingly.

“Surprisingly, yes. He talks very fondly about you guys.” Stan smiled at Richie and the taller man groaned. Stan was teasing him. It was probably payback for making him come on such short notice.

“So! Billiam, when is your smoking hot man showing up?” Richie clapped, ignoring Stan mouthing the nickname to himself in confusion. Bill blinked, his mouth dropping open.

“I-I, uh, I d-don’t know, he s-sa– said he’d b-be here.” Bill pulled out his phone, looking at the time with increasing worry. Richie felt bad for bringing it up. “D-Do I, do I t-text him? L-Like, is th-that clingy?”

“I don’t think so,” Stan started, but he was cut off at the sound of his own name. All three men turned, and someone was coming over to them. He was almost as tall as Richie, but somehow more intimidating. He had big dick energy for sure. (Or maybe it was his broad shoulders and the fact that Richie was built like a stick man.)

“Stanley? What are you doing here?” The man asked, tilting his head to the side. Jesus, his voice was ocean deep. No wonder Bill was a hot mess, this dude was pretty perfect.

“I’m uh… out on a date?” Stan blinked, looking nervous. The person smiled.

“Good for you!”

Has Stan… never been on a date? Richie suspected that since the beginning but Christ, it was more depressing to hear.

Then the person turned and focused their attention on Bill. The redhead was completely flushed and looked like he was two seconds from bolting. (Richie couldn’t blame him.)

“H-Hey Mike,” Bill did not make eye contact as he spoke. Bill was usually fine talking to crushes, but right now he was sweating enough to fill a lake. This guy must be real special.

“Hey Billy, who’s this?” The man, Mike, pointed at Richie. He immediately cut Bill off to introduce himself.

“Richie Tozier’s the name, but you can call me Trashmouth.” Richie winked, outstretching his hand. Mike took it with a small laugh. “Nice to finally meet the person who’s been making Bill’s peepee go way up–” Richie got a hand to the face; Bill shoving him away with a furious blush.

“Ha! Th-That’s why we call him Tra-Trashmouth. Please f-feel fr-free to B-Beep Beep him whenever he goes t-too far!” Bill said, glaring at Richie angrily. Mike laughed, and Bill relaxed almost immediately.

“It’s fine. I think it’s funny.”

“Nooo! D-Don’t encourage him!” Bill whined, “It-It’ll go right t-to his head!”

“Which head?” Richie asked, smirking when Mike laughed again. Yep, this one is a keeper Bill. Marry Mike, please and thank you. Bill ran his hands down his face and Beep Beeped Richie. He shut up, taking the hint when it was explicitly given to him.

“L-Let’s um, g-go inside?” Bill gestured to the park entrance. “I heard th-they have th-this um, this bird watching t-trail that we c-could walk.” Mike smiled and followed his lead, entering the park beside him.

Stan walked beside Richie, clearly trying to make it seem like he and Richie were an item. “So, Beep Beep, huh?”

Richie shuddered, “Yuck stop, you’re killing my boner.”

Stan ignored the boner comment. “Is that your off switch then?”

“More like a safeword.” Richie grimaced, “It’s so the gang can tell me to shut the fuck up without meaning it.”

“Oh, Eds would love that,” Stan laughed, his eyes going soft.

“Hey uh, I don’t mean to pry,” Richie absolutely did, “But are you sure you and Eddie aren’t like… a thing?”

Stan didn’t even have to think about it. “We aren’t. Eddie doesn’t like me like that. We’re just friends.” Oh shit. Okay, so it wasn’t a no homo thing. Was Stan rejected before? (Or was Richie reading this completely wrong.)

He coughed nervously. “So um. Ready to do some stupid fucking bird watching?” Richie expected a laugh in return or ‘yeah, this is gonna be awful’ but Stan only blushed.

“It’s not stupid.” He held his binoculars with both hands and Richie wanted to smack himself in the head.

“You do this for fun? What do you get out of it?” He was honestly curious. Bird watching seemed like glorified research with extra fieldwork and… oh. Right. Stan’s a nerd. He loves shit like that.

“I don’t know.” Stan glanced down at the dirt path in front of them. “It’s calming. I like that it’s organized.” Stan looked like he was struggling to keep his enthusiasm locked up. Richie sighed, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow. Stan blinked at him owlishly. (Ha, _owlishly._ )

“Go on, I know you wanna geek out.”

To his surprise, Stan loosened up completely. He started rambling about the birds native to California, and how there was more variety here than any other place he’s lived.

“Back in Maine, there were only four hundred and sixty-two different species, but here there’s six hundred and seventy-three, not including the species brought in from around the US for sanctuaries and wildlife preserves–” Stan looked like a kid in a fucking candy store, and Richie really hated to cut him off.

“Wait, you grew up in Maine too?” Richie asked as they started walking up a small bridge. Bill and Mike were a few feet ahead of them in their own little world.

Stan was about to respond– and then he slipped.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What kind of bird is that?”  
> “…Richie that’s a plastic bag.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Mentions of Sex (all jokes)  
> Incredibly small moment of Self Loathing

“Wait, you grew up in Maine too?” Richie asked as they started walking up a small bridge. The wood was slick and rotting slightly; someone ought to replace it.

Stan was thrown off by the question. He opened his mouth to start saying, ‘What do you mean too?’ and then– he slipped.

His feet slid out from under him and Stan started to fall over the edge of the bridge. There weren’t any rails, and Stan’s stomach twisted with dread.

A strong arm swiftly wrapped around Stan’s waist, abruptly stopping his descent. Stan took a deep breath, his lungs stuttering in his chest. Richie looked worried for a split second, before his expression melted into a smirk.

“Man, the one thing I said not to do.” Richie tsked, helping Stan get back on steady feet. 

Stan frowned, “What?” There wasn’t much else he could say.

“You went and fell for me, Staniel. This is no longer a fake date.” Richie sighed in mock disappointment. Stan flushed nervously at the jab/horrible joke.

“Shut up,” He mumbled, jokingly shoving Richie’s shoulder. 

He’d been spending too much time with Eddie, because the shove was a little too harsh.

Richie fell off the bridge into the shallow river, water droplets spraying everywhere. Mike and Bill turned around at the noise and Bill started laughing.

“D-Did he make t-too many sex jokes?” Bill asked, clearly thinking Stan had shoved him in on purpose.

“I didn’t mean to, I—” Stan fumbled to drop down onto the bank beside the river, outstretching a hand to help Richie up. His glasses had fallen off into the water below him. (Eddie would have a massive fit if he knew they were _“splashing around in shitty water.”_ )

“I deserved that,” Richie said, still smiling.

“No, I didn’t mean to,” Stan’s ears felt red hot, “I’m sorry.” He tugged Richie up, who gladly accepted the help. Stan plucked Richie’s glasses out of the water for him with his other hand.

“Damn, Stanley Uris saying sorry?” Richie grinned, getting to his feet. He was soaked from head to toe. “Call the church, we’ve performed a Christian miracle.” He held his pointer finger and thumb against his ear, jiggling his hand very cutely to make the motion more dramatic and lively.

“Do you want me to push you back in?” Stan spit out instinctively. Yeah, Eddie was definitely rubbing off on him.

Richie and Bill both laughed, while Mike shook his head at Stan fondly. Mike was clearly thinking the same thing as him; Stanley Uris, former Eagle scout, had been poisoned by Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Aw, c’mon Stan. You love me,” Richie pinched his cheek and Stan huffed, pushing his hand away.

“Shut up. Get out of the river, you weirdo.” At Stan’s demand, Richie stepped out onto the grass. His denim jacket was visibly heavy with how soaked it was.

“Uh, sh-should we tr-try going out another day?” Bill suggested, looking nervous. Richie jumped in immediately.

“Hey, don’t stop your eye fucking on my account!” Richie wrapped his arm around Bill’s shoulders with a smile. “Go on with your date you crazy kids! Stan and I can go home and fuck instead–”

“Beep Beep Richie.” Stan interrupted a little too last-minute, his face getting redder by the second.

Richie shuddered again, his lip curling in discomfort. “Ugh, I hate that you can do that now.”

“R-Richie let g-go of me!” Bill sputtered, pushing at the arm around him. “You’re g-getting me all w-w-wet!”

Richie grinned in response, “That’s what she said! She, being your mom, in case that was unclear.” Richie leaned on him further, dripping water all over Bill’s face and shoulder.

“Beep Beep f-fucker!” Bill tried to shove Richie away, but it didn’t help him much. Richie wrapped both arms around Bill’s chest until all Bill could do was fruitlessly squirm.

“Alright Rich, let go.” Stan sighed, grabbing his sleeve. “You need to dry off anyway.”

Richie released him immediately, reaching up to adjust glasses that weren’t on his face. Stan remembered that he placed them into his back pocket after drying them off.

“Here dipshit,” He pulled them out and handed them back to Richie. “I’m surprised you knew which one of us was Bill without them.”

The taller man smiled, and took them back. His thumb immediately left a print on the pristine glass. Stan forced his scowl down.

“How are they cleaner than before?” Richie commented, holding them up to the light.

“I wiped them off on my shirt.” Stan scoffed, “You know you should really take better care of your things. They’re all scratched on the edges.”

Judging by Richie’s huge goofy grin, he wasn’t listening. Stan sighed with annoyance, but Richie’s expression didn’t falter a bit.

“Let’s leave Bill and Mike to their date.” Stan grabbed Richie’s sleeve again, intending to lead him to his car.

“Wait, are you sure Stanley?” Mike asked, looking at him curiously.

“Course. Go on guys.” Stan waved goodbye as Mike and Bill left to continue their real date. Bill looked more nervous than before, probably because Richie wasn’t there acting as a buffer.

“Ooo Stanley, taking me home to meet the folks already?” Richie nudged him as they walked in the direction of Stan’s car. The blond snorted and hated himself for the sound. Richie looked absolutely thrilled.

“Don’t even think about it–”

“Aaaa! Cute!” Richie pinched his cheek and Stan brushed his hand away hurriedly. He was sure Richie could feel how hot they were.

“It’s not cute, it’s disgusting.” Stan said as they came to a stop in front of his Prius. He fished his key out from its spot in his back pocket, popping the trunk open with the button.

“Bullshit, that was adorable!” Richie protested, circling around to Stan’s other side. Richie seemed to have a habit of walking and talking.

Instead of fighting a losing battle, Stan pulled a folded towel from his trunk. He shoved it into Richie’s face and the taller man made a soft confused noise.

“What the fuck? Why do you just _have_ towels on you?” Richie unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders. Stan took a page out of his book.

“Obviously it’s clean up for all the sex I have in my car.” He stared at Richie with his best neutral expression. Richie squawked.

“What the hell?! For real?” Richie’s eyes went huge and his jaw practically fell to the floor. Stan let a half-smile break his face and Richie sighed dramatically. “Holy shit, you got me. I have no idea what I would’ve done if you made me dry myself off with a cum rag.”

Stan let himself laugh and Richie was stunned into silence. “I’m not that much of a dick. And you don’t have to worry about those being dirty. Eddie would kill me if he used a towel twice.”

Richie slid the towel up his neck, rubbing furiously at his hair to dry it. “So why do you have them? If you’re not fucking, I mean.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t fuck, just that I don’t defile my car.” Stan rolled his eyes. “They’re for emergencies. Also, for the beach, but I don’t go often.”

“Ah I see, so they’re here in case you peepee your pants, got it.” Richie gave him a thumbs up and ran his fingers through his hair when it was finally dry. It reverted back to its normal messy state in seconds.

“Jesus.” Stan shook his head. “I can’t believe I agreed to come with you today.”

Richie stuck his tongue out. “I can’t believe it either!” It came off as joking, but Richie glanced away nervously immediately after. He clearly hadn’t meant to say it.

“I promise I’m not normally this easy. I expect a few days’ notice and flowers if you decide to drop something like this on me again.”

Richie smiled dumbly, but he didn’t say anything further. He took his denim jacket off, and then the Hawaiian shirt underneath that. His last layer, a graphic tee, was equally soaked, but he didn’t take that off. (Thank Christ.) Richie looked around and saw something behind Stan.

“Hey, could we sit over there?” He pointed behind him, and Stan turned. Richie was pointing to a sunny patch on a hill.

Stan rose one eyebrow. “You don’t want to go home and change?” If it was him, he’d have passed out from the mess ages ago. Richie waved him off.

“It’s fine! You didn’t get to do any of your nerd shit, and I can dry off in the sun, so I’d rather stay.” Richie smiled, and then he cupped his hand at the side of his mouth and gestured Stan to move in, like he was going to tell him a secret. “Besides, I wanted to split off from Bill ages ago. He’s a big boy and he can handle gay boners by himself.”

Stan couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled up from his throat. “You bully him so much.”

“On Jod, he’s bullying me right now. Back in our Youth, he would constantly throw me under the bus to talk to chicks.” Richie used a weird voice when he said ‘Youth,’ stressing the word enough that Stan could practically hear the capitalization.

“Jod?” Stan asked.

“It’s funnier and I don’t get in trouble. What can I say, I’m the king of improvising.” Richie started walking toward the hill and Stan followed. They didn’t talk much, which was odd. Richie seemed to get uncomfortable when it was silent, but right now he was fine.

Richie collapsed on the side of the hill, stretching like a cat. Stan sat himself down beside him, grimacing at the itchy grass on his legs. Stan looked around, trying to distract himself from his discomfort. He noticed Richie left his jacket and overshirt in a wet clump beside him, so he lifted them up and shook them out.

Richie peeked up at him with one eye and a lazy grin. “Ya jacking me of my clothes, Stanley?” Richie asked, using another weird Voice. It was a mix of a New York accent and Southern; and they didn’t go together at all.

“I’m gonna lay them out so they dry better.” Stan said, doing just that. He took special care to make sure the sleeves weren’t crossing over the torso, so there wouldn’t be any wet spots.

“Jeez, if I wanted my laundry done, I would’ve called my mom.” Richie rolled his eyes with his usual smile still on his face. Stan wondered if his face was simply stuck like that. Permanently content and at ease.

“I don’t think your mom would appreciate that phone call if she’s all the way in Maine.” Stan said, falling back onto his knees to sit next to Richie again.

Richie blinked up at him. “Oh shit yeah. You never answered my question.”

“Which one?”

Richie sighed and pushed his glasses up. “Before you fell for me,” He winked. “Where did you grow up Stan the Man?”

“Well, I was born in Derry, but I moved to Queens when I turned eleven if I remember correctly.” Stan answered, shifting when his legs started itching violently.

“Derry, Maine?” Richie asked, both eyes now wide open.

“Yeah. That’s what I just said.” Stan frowned at him, “Are you alright?”

“Dude! _Am I alright?_ We grew up together!” Richie sat up with a smile. “Isn’t that weird?”

Stan snorted again, and he wanted to remove his own nose. “Not really. Mike lived there too, y’know. I stayed in touch with him through childish little letters. We were pen pals until college.” Stan pulled a blade of grass from the ground, squirming again when he felt the urge to scratch his skin red.

“I never knew a Mike. And I knew everyone in Derry.” Richie exclaimed proudly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah, I see. My mistake. I guess Mike lived in New York with Eds and I, since Mr. Extrovert here didn’t know the homeschooled kid.” Stan smiled, looking at Richie to communicate how obnoxious he was being.

Richie just rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I knew mostly everyone by name or at least by their face. Derry was a small town.” Richie stretched again, cracking his neck and back. His shirt was almost completely dry now. “Would’ve been cool if you were around.”

“Who would’ve been there for Eddie if I was?” Stan sighed. “I’m glad that I moved. Derry was kind of a shithole anyway. Not that Queens was any better, but at least I wasn’t alone.”

Richie nudged him. “Aw, you do have feelings.”

Stan pushed him and Richie fell onto his side with a laugh. “Beep Beep Richie.”

“Yuck babe, seriously, killing the mood.” Richie groaned, folding his arms behind his head so he could tilt it back without getting grass in his hair.

“That was the point, _babe._ ” Stan responded, unable to hide the way his body jerked when he shifted for the hundredth time.

Richie simply opened one eye to look at him again. “You got ants in your pants or something, Squirmy? What’s the matter?”

Stan huffed, blushing nervously. He was constantly bothering everyone with his stupid habits and pet peeves. Why the hell was he like this? “It’s nothing.”

Richie scoffed. “You can’t nerdwatch if you’re too busy moving all over the damn place.” The taller man pulled the towel from around his shoulders and handed it to Stan.

“What’s this for?” Stan asked, holding it curiously.

“Sit on it.” Richie yawned. “Then you can tell me all about the huge white breasted whatever the fucks in the trees. Are we cool?” He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Stan throwing a hissy fit over some grass, and it made Stan’s heart skip a couple beats.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Stan laid the towel out and sat down, pleased to find that it was only a little damp. Then he blinked. “There’s no such thing as a huge white breasted fuck, Richie.”

“You’ve met your mom, haven’t you?” Richie answered with a shitty grin. Stan smacked him on the shoulder and Richie rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, educate me on real birds. I’m only gonna listen if you promise to be my sexy teacher that’ll boost my grade for a blow–”

“Beep Beep, Jesus Christ how do you turn everything into a sex joke?” Stan hated that most of them were a little funny.

“It’s a curse, Stanley. You have to kiss me to free me from it.” Richie closed his eyes and made obnoxious kissy noises, tilting his head to one side like he was in a Disney movie.

“Die then.” Just as the words left his mouth, Stan’s attention was stolen by the sound of flapping wings. He looked up and saw blue and yellow feathers, and his jaw dropped. He shook Richie’s shoulder and took out his phone.

“What?” Richie asked, reopening his eyes and leaning up on his elbows. Stan fumbled for his binoculars.

“That’s a red-flanked bluetail!” Stan tried to get a picture of it and he was failing miserably.

“English please, Birdnerd.” Richie requested, clearly not understanding Stan’s excitement. Very few people did.

“It’s really rare, even in LA! I’ve only seen them in books, I’ve never been this close,” Stan’s pictures were blurry and Richie sighed.

“Gimme your phone, I’ll take the picture for you.” Richie snatched it when Stan offered it, rotating it into landscape mode and taking a total of three carefully timed pictures. When Stan got it back he had a front, back, and side view of the bird plus the branches around it.

“These are perfect,” Stan gaped at him, and Richie only shrugged.

“Perks of being forced to major in photography for two years.” The taller man had the same easy grin on his face, and Stan got a little lost in it. “Hey,” Richie asked, getting Stan’s attention. “What kind of bird is that?”

“…Richie that’s a plastic bag.”

“And that?” Richie made his daily goal ‘tease the fuck out of Stanley’ it seemed.

“Rich, that’s a pigeon!” Stan laughed, unable to handle this much dumbassery in one conversation.

“Oh man I love when you use long words it’s so sexy,” Richie fake-moaned like a bad porn star. Stan giggled at it, and hated the fact that a noise like that came out of his throat.

“Stop!” Stan wheezed when Richie fake-moaned again, “Richie, pigeon is six letters!”

Stan’s chest and mouth hurt from laughing by the time it started to get dark, and Richie had the biggest grin on his face.

“Thanks for hanging with me so last notice.” He said honestly, nudging Stan in the side as he tugged his overshirt back on. Everything except Richie’s socks were dry, which was a huge relief. He wouldn’t want Richie to go home in wet clothes.

Stan folded his towel into a square after shaking the grass off of it. “It was no problem. Not like I had any plans on a Sunday afternoon.”

Richie squinted at him. “I seriously can’t tell if that was sarcasm. Were you joking or did you blow off a real date or something?”

Stan tactfully chose to say nothing, walking to his car with his towel laid over his arm. Richie stumbled down the hill behind him.

“Jesus Christ Stanley, I mean, I’d be honored if you blew something off for little old me, but like, you didn’t have to feel obligated to help me, I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

Stan opened his trunk and laid the towel down away from the others so he remembered to wash it. “Relax Rich, my weekends are always open. The joke was that I have no friends.”

Richie sighed with relief and then choked, “Wait, hold on a hot second, that’s depressing as fuck.”

Stan laughed, “Yeah. That was the point.”

“Your sense of humor is morbid, birdy.” Richie said, shaking his head slightly. Stan flushed, his heart caught in his throat. Richie brightened immediately.

“Holy shit, you’re a sucker for those huh?” His eyes gleamed and Stan looked away nervously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said indignantly, trying his best to seem unbothered.

“Oh? You sure you don’t know, Dove?” Richie’s smile widened when Stan’s blush deepened. “What the hell, you’re so cute.” Richie looked absolutely over the moon, his tooth gap on display for the blond. Stan was trying very hard to not explode right there.

“I’m sure…” He huffed, checking his watch. “See you around.”

“See ya, lovebird.” Richie mused, turning around to head to his car. “Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

Stan ran a hand through his hair and tried to get his heart to relax. By the time he had a response, Richie was out of earshot. Stan sighed, getting into his car before slamming his head against the wheel with a loud groan. Eddie was going to kill him for being so stupid tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No I’m not, untwist your panties Bill. To be honest, hanging out with Stan was kind of a reward already.” Shit. That was cheesy as hell. Richie flushed, “You know cause I got to stare at him and imagine what his dick looked like or whatever.”  
> “Wh-What th-the hell d-do I do w-with the bouncy house I bought?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Mentions of Sex (jokes)  
> Richie being gross  
> Bower's Gang (Mention)  
> Short moment of Paranoia
> 
> Welcome back to Richie Tozier's new Netflix special: SPECIAL TREATMENT

Wednesday was a normal day for most people. For the Losers, it was their weekly get together. Bev came up with it– it was usually her or Bill bringing new shit into Loser Law. She insisted on a pause in the middle of the week to unwind and meet up, since everyone but Ben made their own schedules.

Ben, being a rationalist, argued that they all spent time together on the weekend and another day to hang out wasn’t desperately needed. It took one small kiss on his cheek from Bev to get him on board.

So there they were at Bill’s house, drinking themselves stupid. Bill insisted on everyone staying the night, because he wanted to celebrate his date.

“It w-went perfectly!” Bill exclaimed, nearly spilling coke down his front. “I was so n-nervous but he w-w-was so sweet a-and I barely stuttered the whole t-time! He s-said, said he w-wanted to see me again, too,”

“I told you it would go fine, shithead.” Richie grinned, tilting his cup toward him. Bill tapped their cups together with a wide smile.

“It w-was all th-thanks to you!” Bill was rarely emotional when he drank, so the tears coming to his eyes were shocking. “I owe y-you like, seven b-bouncy houses!”

“What’s this about a bouncy house?” Beverly cut in immediately with an excited grin on her face.

“I was a good boy on Sunday so I get a reward.” Richie winked, making Beverly and Bill laugh. Ben just smiled and rolled his eyes.

Beverly crossed the room to sit on the couch beside Richie. She leaned into him instinctively, her head pressing against his shoulder. “For real though, are you getting him a bouncy house for making you look good? You don’t even need Richie to look good.”

Bill blushed, taking a sip of his coke. Ben had discreetly swapped their drinks ages ago, but none of them were sobering up one bit.

“Hey! If Bill realizes he’s hot on his own, I’ll be out of a job! Don’t give him ideas,” Richie obnoxiously shushed Beverly with a finger pressed against her lips. She just cackled in response while Bill sputtered.

“I am _not_ hot,”

“Yes you are.” All the Losers interrupted immediately. Bill just huffed, the blush spreading to his neck. He knew he wouldn’t win this fight, so he backed down and started gushing about Mike again. Wise choice, considering all the Losers had crushed on him at some point.

Even Ben admitted to being attracted to him when they first met, which was a shock since everyone thought his first crush was Beverly. (Also, they all thought Ben was the completely straight one. Ben defended himself by saying “he could appreciate someone’s looks without wanting to date them.”)

“So Bill, I have to know,” Richie started after finishing his cup. “Was Mikey boy as hung as he looked?”

Bill’s entire face went lobster red. “R-RICHIE!”

“What? He’s really tall n shit. Figured his dick would be proportional.” Richie seriously loved teasing his friends.

“Beep fu-fucking Beep oh my God.” Bill ran his hands down his face. “I’d ah-assume his… _y’know_ , would b-be proportionate, but I d-don’t know.”

“You can say cock, Bill. We’re not 12 anymore.”

Bill groaned and threw his head back against the couch. “F-Fuck off Richie. You’re th-the one who still m-makes your mom jokes. If anyone is 12, it-it’s you.”

Before Richie could even think of a full response, Ben choked on his drink. “He’s got you there, Rich.”

“Yeah,” Bev agreed, piling on.

“Oh I see, it’s attack Richie day huh? Everyone bully the Trashmouth.” Richie felt a smile stretch his face even though he wanted to play off being annoyed or mad. He could never be angry around his Losers.

“Don’t you mean every day?” Ben said, using his fake Innocent Voice. The Losers tended to be powerless against it; Ben was great at sounding genuinely naïve.

“Eat my entire ass, Haystack.” Richie pointed at him threateningly, wrapping his arm around Bev’s waist. “Or your girl gets it.”

“’My girl’ could literally destroy you. I’m not even a little bit worried.” Ben said with a fond smile.

“Baby,” Bev said with a matching perfect grin, her hand pressed against her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Richie let go of her and retched. “Disgusting. Revolting. You two are vile.”

“We don’t say shit when you eyefuck Stan Uris.” Ben laughed, and the rest of them joined in. Richie flushed and crossed his arms over his chest. He really wished he could look unbothered, but it was hard to fake shit around his friends. They always saw right through him.

“Shut up, you always say shit. Right to his face, no less.” Richie pulled a big goofy grin and outstretched his hand. “ _Hi Stan! N-Nice to meet you, my fr-friend Richie wuh-wants t-to raw you over a t-table!_ ”

The Losers laughed, and Richie reminded himself to work this into a bit later.

“I see you’ve been practicing your Bill Voice.” Beverly snorted, and it reminded Richie of Stan doing the same thing on Sunday. The only difference was Stan’s was cuter, sorry Bev.

“Yeah,” Richie sighed, fanning himself and biting his lip lightly. “I must admit, sometimes when I’m alone, I use his Voice to–”

“BEEP BEEP!” Bill cut in, covering his face with his hands. Richie broke out of character and started cackling.

“What Bill? You don’t like hearing about my me time? I’m hurt.”

“You’re n-nasty.” Bill answered, “I’m g-going to, to get another dr-drink.” He stood and Ben dragged him back down by his pant leg.

“Absolutely not. Let’s watch a movie instead.”

Bill whined, slumping into the couch. “I, I’m not even dr-drunk Ben!”

“Yes you are.” Ben chuckled, getting up to sort through Bill’s impressive stack of VHS tapes. He selected one without consulting the rest of the gang, because he didn’t need to. They knew each other too well.

He turned the TV on and pressed it in before coming back over to the couch. He was lit up by the screen behind him. “Could I have Bev back?” He asked, humor clear in his tone. Richie wrapped himself further around Beverly, who giggled and reciprocated the hug.

“Nope! Snuggle with Bill!” He stuck his tongue out at Ben, who rolled his eyes. He sat down on the floor in front of them instead, resting his back against the couch. Beverly tossed her legs over Ben’s shoulders while staying pressed against Richie’s side. Eventually Bill moved in to lay his head in Richie’s lap so he could watch the movie more comfortably.

The opening scene of Sixth Sense began and Richie settled himself in for a long night.

…

When they woke up, it was to Bill’s 10:30 alarm. Now, Richie had only punched Bill once in his entire life, but he was seriously considering doing it again.

The TV was still on, static rolling over the screen. It was a wonder that they didn’t wake up to that instead of the harsh beeping noise coming from Bill’s room. The redhead stumbled to his feet, holding his head as he clumsily entered his bedroom.

They had all fallen asleep on the couch, limbs tangled together in a pile. At some point Ben had migrated from the floor to the couch, squeezed against Bev’s other side. Beverly curled into Ben’s chest, his arm wrapped around her. Richie had to admit, they fit together like puzzle pieces.

Richie stood and stretched, even though he really, really wanted to go back to sleep. Suddenly the beeping was cut off, and Bill reentered the living room, rubbing his eyes with thinly veiled annoyance.

“G-Good morning Ri-Richie.” Bill yawned slightly, somehow still looking perfect when he was hungover. He walked over to turn the TV off, blissful silence replacing the buzzing.

“Morning Big Bill.” Richie returned, gaining a smile from his friend. “Did ya sleep well?”

Bill scoffed and walked into the kitchen. “F-Fuck no. I’m gonna d-drown myself in coffee.”

“Sugar please.” Richie called, smirking when Bill groaned.

“Y-You suck Tr-Trashmouth.” There was a faint beep as Bill’s Keurig started up. “Milk?”

Richie wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to disturb the should-be-married couple on the couch. “No thanks.”

Within minutes Bill called Richie into the kitchen, a mug in each hand. Richie moaned, “Somebody needs to wife you up, Denbrough.”

Bill blushed and shoved his cup at him. “Yeah, yeah, j-just drink it. And d-don’t even think about com-complaining.” Bill took a long sip from his own coffee and Richie saluted him.

“Affirmative, Mr. President.” He drank his own, hiding his smile in his cup when Bill rolled his eyes.

There were a few minutes of companionable silence, Bill having started on making breakfast for them. Richie sat on top of the counter, watching him cook, and being a general nuisance until Bill laughed or threatened to kill him.

“Should we wake Mistah and Missus Marsh?” Richie asked using an awful almost-Southern accent, leaning his chin on his hand. Bill thought for a moment before nodding.

“P-Pr-Probably. Ben might want some t-time to relax b-b-b,” Bill paused, hissing Fuck beneath his breath. “Before he’s ca-called in to work.” Bill flipped a pancake, and it folded in on itself. He cursed and tried to scrape it off the pan.

“I’ll have that one.” Richie pointed to the ruined pancake, “Let me go wake them up.” He walked out of the kitchen, seeing Bev and Ben still cuddled up sweetly.

“D-Don’t be too mean!” Bill scolded prematurely.

Richie opened Spotify on his phone, scrolling until he found The Birthday Playlist. It was a tradition to wake each other up on their birthdays, and Richie was fond of blasting something loud and annoying to get them ready for the day.

What’s New Pussycat blared from Richie’s phone speakers, and Ben jumped awake. Bev fell off his chest and narrowly avoided falling on the floor. Richie couldn’t help but laugh.

“RICHIE!” Bill said angrily, not moving from his post at the stove.

“What’s up?” Richie answered calmly, switching the music off as Ben and Beverly woke up.

“C-COME HERE!”

Richie laughed. “Ooo, is Daddy Bill gonna punish me?” He reentered the kitchen and Bill grabbed him by the ear, pulling him down to his height.

“Beep Beep asshole.” Bill was clearly not in the mood for Richie’s antics so early in the morning.

“Aw c’mon Bill, don’t be mad!” Richie whined, leaning on Bill’s side. “I’m your favorite, remember?”

“You s-sure are someth-thing alright.” Bill said with a murderous look as he flipped the next pancake successfully. There was a stack next to the stove on a plate, all perfect besides the first one he ruined and another that he burned.

“Well if you’re gonna punish me at least make it sexy.” Richie stated, planting his hands on his hips.

Bill sighed, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of Richie’s mouth right now. “O-Over my de-dead b-body.”

Richie loved his friends. They gave him so many comedic openings. “Bill, we’ve been over this, I’m just not a necrophiliac like you.”

Beverly laughed, walking in at just the right time. “Good morning Rich.”

“Good morning Bev, love of my life.” Richie smiled at her, and Bill rolled his eyes.

“I d-don’t underst-stand how you t-two can be s-so upbeat th-this early.” Bill clicked the stove off, opening his fridge to grab toppings for the stupidly perfect pancakes he made.

Ben walked in, giving Bev a sleepy kiss on the cheek. “Did you make those? They look great.” He said, looking at Bill kindly. The redhead waved him off.

“Flattery w-won’t get you special tr-treatment.” He set whipped cream on the counter and denied Richie’s plea of spraying it into his mouth.

“You’re so grumpy. I miss wasted Bill.” Richie whined, getting a hand to the face as Bill shoved him away.

“Go eat before I t-take your pancakes away.” He threateningly pointed his spatula at Richie before dropping it into the sink with a clatter.

Richie saluted him again, stealing the fucked up pancakes from the pile and stacking them on his plate. He sprayed whipped cream into his mouth when Bill wasn’t looking, which made Beverly wheeze. The sound blew his cover, and Bill groaned.

“Why d-do I let you spend the n-night?”

“Because you love me!” Richie said with a mouthful of whipped cream.

Bill narrowed his eyes at him and Richie smiled back. “R-Regretf-fully.”

“Holy shit did you guys hear that! Bill loves me!”

“You-You’re on th-thin ice, Tr-Trashmouth.”

…

“I’m gonna put my foot down right now, and I’m gonna take a stance, Watermelon is the only good flavor of jolly rancher candies, I will say that.” Richie pulled the mic closer to as the crowd cheered. “Thank you for agreeing with me. If you say Sour Apple I will stab you in the jaw.” Richie pointed threateningly at the audience as they started laughing.

“Sour Apple sucks.” He said definitively, “If you believe that Sour Apple is good, come meet me in the lobby after the show, I’ll be the guy stabbing jaws. There’s not too many of us out there, just look for the guy stabbing jaws.” He made sure to put emphasis on the right words and beamed when the laughter got louder. “That’s me, come up, say hello, and I will stab you in the jaw.” Richie ran his thumb over his neck.

There was movement at Richie’s right, and he glanced over to see his manager pointing at his watch. Richie sighed. He’d gone over the time limit again.

“Thank you everybody! Hope you had a great night!” Richie walked toward his manager, listening to the screaming and laughter he left behind.

“That was almost five minutes over, Richie.” His manager sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re going to keep going over like this, you need to open meet and greets or something.”

“Meet and Greets?” Richie scoffed. Who would want to meet him? (Who would pay to meet him?)

“This isn’t a joke,” His manager took him aside with a sigh. “You need to think bigger. You have a talent that you’re not using.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “I am using it. I’m on stage aren’t I?” He pulled away after checking his phone. “Anyway, I’ve got a date so I really can’t stay. See you later!”

Richie did not have a date, but it was his general excuse. ‘Crass Bachelor’ was his image, so him dating around or generally acting immaturely in public wasn’t a big problem. His manager still gave him shit for it anyway.

(7:30 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: heyyyy Billy boy im on my way  
(7:30 PM) BOOMER: K.  
(7:31 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: why so short big bill? did i make u mad or smthin  
(7:31 PM) BOOMER: No, just can’t talk rn  
(7:32 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: alright ill take the hint when its given. should i still come over?  
(7:33 PM) BOOMER: That would be good, yeah

Richie frowned at the cryptic texts. It wasn’t like Bill to be so dismissive. He set his phone down in the cupholder, putting his car into drive. Without speeding, it took fifteen minutes to get there. If Richie disobeyed traffic laws and basic human decency, he would arrive in eight.

Richie knocked on Bill’s door ten minutes later, checking his phone. Bill hadn’t texted since, and it was starting to worry him a little. When there was nothing but silence and Bill hadn’t answered the door, Richie was on the edge of full panic.

It reminded him of their childhood, constantly running from the Bowers gang. If one of them was missing, even for a second, it could be reasonably assumed that they were dead. Richie felt his stomach twist into tight knots as he dialed Bill’s number.

Straight to voicemail.

Richie was two seconds from smashing the door down when he heard laughter from the backyard. He took a deep breath and reached over to open Bill’s side gate. Richie could hear Bev and Ben laughing, and Bill’s distinct voice. As well as the sound of something popping.

He walked around the house and Bill jumped.

“R-Rich!” He shouted, clearly not expecting Richie so early. There was a full box of firecrackers beside him, and Richie stifled a laugh.

“Did I ruin the surprise?” Richie asked with a grin. Bill pushed him inside and Richie laughed the whole way.

“UGH! I w-was trying to d-do one cool friend th-thing!” Bill groaned, sitting Richie down on the couch. He paced in front of him.

“I can see that. A note would’ve been nice by the way, thought you were dead.” Richie yawned, sinking into the couch tiredly.

Bill’s eyes widened. “Sh-Shit. S-S-Sorry, Rich.”

Richie waved him off, hating the guilt in his eyes. “Don’t sweat it.” Then he smiled. “Now, are you gonna tell me what my surprise is for getting you laid?”

“Beep Beep.” Bill sighed, “I d-didn’t get laid.”

“Damn. I didn’t do a good enough job then, clearly.”

Bill looked at him curiously. “What w-would you want f-for a reward? If I hy-hypothe-thetically hadn’t already gotten you s-something.”

Richie hummed, pretending to think seriously. “Blowjob.”

“W-Well that’s off the t-t-table.” Bill said immediately, with a funny little smile that meant he would punch Richie if he went too far with his requests.

“Trampoline and scissors.”

“NO!” Bill half-laughed half-shouted. “A-Are you for real?”

Richie laughed and shook his head. “No I’m not, untwist your panties Bill. To be honest, hanging out with Stan was kind of a reward already.” Shit. That was cheesy as hell. Richie flushed, “You know cause I got to stare at him and imagine what his dick looked like or whatever.”

Bill paused. “Wh-What th-the hell d-do I do w-with the bouncy house I bought?”

Richie jumped up from the couch and looked out the window. There was a huge deflated bouncy house sitting outside. It must’ve arrived while they were talking. Richie dropped to his knees in front of Bill, raising his clasped hands up like he was praying.

“I was just joking! Stan can suck a dick! Please keep the bouncy house, Bill, I’ll love you forever.”

Bill shook his head fondly and walked out into the garden. “Tr-Trust you to th-throw away romance f-for dangerous sh-shit.”

…

In Richie’s defense, all the firecrackers were finished and thrown away before he even stepped foot in the bouncy house. Getting himself into trouble in an otherwise safe situation was something he was just really, really good at.

“Hey guys? I think I broke my hip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That short bit that Richie was doing is Dane Cook's and Not My Original Work. I don't claim ownership of it; I just thought it was a Richie TM Sounding joke! That's all lmao.  
> (sorry for another cliff hanger) ((but im also not that sorry ;P ))


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay so, Big Bill bought me firecrackers and a bouncy house,”  
> “B-Because you _asked_ f-for th-them.” The redhead argued, as if that lessened the blame on his end for buying them in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Mentions of Sex  
> Slight Reference to Eddie's Trauma (Hospitals, Sonia)  
> Slight Elevator related PTSD  
> One mention of a Homophobic Slur that isn't explicitly written out  
> Strange Injuries and Hospital Trips  
> Mentions of assholes from Derry  
> Dumb Flirting

Stan stared down at his phone screen in disbelief. He rubbed his eyes and checked the time to see if he was still asleep. He could read the clock fine. He read the calendar. Thursday, 5:30 AM.

(5:31 AM) YOUR MOM: lmao come see me in the hospital its lit over here

Stan pinched himself again. The text didn’t go away.

(5:32 AM) STAN URIS: Why are you in the hospital?  
(5:32 AM) YOUR MOM: lmao  
(5:32 AM) YOUR MOM: 501 S Buena Vista St, Burbank, CA 91505

Stan sighed deeply before calling his boss. Stanley Uris has never voluntarily taken a sick day before. Not even when he was a teen. When he was sick he simply pushed through it, working through the haze.

Stan also, rarely lies. It’s not out of a moral or principle; it’s that he’s never needed to. Stan didn’t stick himself into dangerous or miscalculated situations, so he never needed to weasel his way out of them.

“Hi, I’m sorry for calling so early. It’s a family emergency.”

…

Stan dressed himself semi-casually, buttoning his shirt up as quickly as possible without doing it wrong. He called Eddie as he pulled his pants up, sliding a belt through the loops with a snap of his wrist. Eddie picked up as he was slipping his shoes on.

“Wh? Stanely?” Eddie mumbled sleepily. “You better have a good fuckin’ reason for calling me so early.”

“Richie’s in the hospital.”

The silence from the other line was so thick that Stan thought Eddie hung up or fell back asleep. Then he heard a tiny, stifled yawn from Eddie.

“Which hospital?” There was shuffling sounds as Eddie got out of bed. “We can go visit during lunch.”

“I took a sick day.”

More silence. Eddie was completely stunned.

“Are you sick?” Eddie asked.

“No.” Stan replied, pulling a cardigan on and buttoning it up over his long sleeved shirt. He pulled his briefcase over his shoulder. If he was taking a day off to keep Richie’s stupid ass company, he might as well work while he was there.

“Are you feeling alright?” Eddie asked, sounding more awake. “You’re not usually this impulsive.” Eddie didn’t have to say it, Stan already knew.

“I’m fine…” Stan twisted his cardigan’s button in and out four times. “I’m just worried.” He left the button alone, smoothing the fabric over it so it lay flat.

“Pick me up. I want to come too.” Eddie hung up, and Stan could only assume he was getting ready.

Stan took the elevator to the garage, trying to calm down when it wobbled slightly. He wasn’t as claustrophobic as Richie, but they could’ve died that day. The elevator could’ve snapped and pulverized their bodies with a sickening crunch–

The elevator stopped at the garage and the door slid open. Stan took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. Before he started his car, he texted Richie again.

(5:45 AM) STAN URIS: Which room are you in?  
(5:46 AM) YOUR MOM: [hospital-selfie.jpeg]  
(5:46 AM) STAN URIS: That doesn’t help at all.  
(5:46 AM) YOUR MOM: i thought u liked me :(  
(5:47 AM) STAN URIS: Room number now. Or I’m going back to bed.  
(5:47 AM) YOUR MOM: jeez ok officer uris. room 1002 bring ur cuffs if ur gonna interrogate me

Stan set his phone back down and drove toward Eddie’s apartment first, putting the hospital address in his GPS as he drove. When he pulled up to Eddie’s, the brunet was already standing outside. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and red shorts despite the early morning chill. It would heat up soon, since it’s still summer, but it was freezing now.

Eddie wordlessly hopped into the backseat.

“You don’t want to sit up front with me?” Stan asked, looking at Eddie with his rear view mirror. He felt like a dad driving his kid to school, and it was a weird vibe.

“It’s statistically more dangerous if I walk around and get into the passenger seat because it’s facing the road. Granted there aren’t that many cars out right now, but the streets in LA are smaller than average and they’re riddled with potholes. I’d rather not die, fuckface.”

“Good morning to you too.” Stan returned, pulling out of park and driving faster than he’d normally allow toward the freeway.

Eddie grumbled quietly. “It’s early.”

“I know Eds. Poor baby is up a few teensy minutes before he planned.” Stan teased, looking at Eddie so the brunet knew he wasn’t being serious. Eddie pouted harder, leaning on the car window.

“Shut the fuck up.” He closed his eyes, whining unhappily when the car jolted over a crack in the pavement. “I’m gonna take a nap. Watch the road.” He supported his head with his hand and Stan rolled his eyes.

The trip only took twenty minutes, but Stan stopped in the parking lot to give Eddie another ten to sleep. Once he started snoring, Stan got out of the car. He opened the door opposite to Eds, leaning into the car to shake his shoulder gently.

Eddie snorted and sat up abruptly, his jaw clicking as he set it back in place. “Stan?” He mumbled, another yawn stopping him from saying anything further.

“We’re here.” Stan said softly, trying not to disturb the smaller man further. Eddie blinked a couple times, and then nodded tiredly.

“M’kay.” He climbed out and then took a moment to look over Stan’s outfit. “You look nice. Cute.”

“Keep it in your pants, Eds.” Stan blushed, “We’re here to see Richie remember?”

Eddie nodded with a grimace. “What happened, anyway? Did he break his dick or something?”

Stan paused. “I… I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

Eddie looked at him weirdly. “You don’t even know why he’s here? And you dropped everything?” His tone implied that perhaps Stan had been replaced by something that looked like him but wasn’t him.

“Yeah.” Stan swallowed hard. “I guess I did?”

“We’re talking about this later.” Eddie squinted at him, analyzing his friend in his half-asleep state. “Something’s been different with you.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Let’s go inside.”

Eddie grabbed him by the sleeve. “Promise you’ll tell me what’s going on later. Promise.”

Stan tried to tug himself free without wrinkling the fabric. Eddie didn’t budge and he sighed. “Fine. I promise. I’ll give you the answers you want.” He wasn’t even sure if he _could_ promise that. Eddie let go anyway, and Stan led him to the sterilized waiting room. It was mostly empty, but the people who were there were varying degrees of worried or sad.

He walked up to the front desk, “Hi, do you know where room one-zero-zero-two is?”

The woman didn’t even blink, going through the process of getting them visitor passes. “Sixth floor, there will be signs indicating which hallway to go down. It’s split into evens and odds.”

Stan didn’t waste any more time and located an elevator, following the nurse’s directions to the T. Eddie followed behind him, looking equal parts tired and suspicious. The elevator started up smoothly, and Stan was grateful for it.

Eddie quietly studied him with eyes for a few moments and Stan quietly pretended like he didn’t know he was doing it.

Then Eddie spoke. “You like him, don’t you?”

Stan tried to hide the way his breath stuttered. “No. I don’t. I’m just worried.” He undid his cardigan button and pressed it back in to calm himself.

“You liar!” Eddie shouted gleefully, staring at him in shock. “I know you Stanley, you can’t lie to me!”

Stan turned to look at him. “I’m not lying. I don’t like him.” The elevator slid open and Stan jerked away from the door, feeling thrown off and flustered.

“Oh my god, we’re so talking about this later.” Eddie whispered as a person entered the elevator. They pressed the button for the 8th floor and Stan scratched his neck nervously. Eddie smacked his hand away from his skin, grabbing it to keep him from scratching more.

The person gave Stan a funny look and the blond tried to keep his nervousness under wraps. Eddie didn’t let go of his hand, squeezing it harder. Stan had zero doubts that it was an act of defiance. Daring the person to say something.

The elevator stopped at their floor and Stan pretended like he didn’t hear the mumbled slur. Eddie didn’t let go of his hand as they looked for Richie’s room. He looked intensely uncomfortable just being in a hospital, so Stan squeezed his hand back to comfort him.

He knew Eddie hated hospitals after spending most of his childhood getting x-rayed for fake diseases. As Eddie got older, Stan had to break him out of quite a few appointments. In one instance, Eddie jumped into the basket on his bike, and Stan had to pedal away from an enraged Sonia Kaspbrak. He still remembers how sore his legs were that night, but the relieved smile on Eddie’s face made it all worth it.

“Hey, it was one-zero-zero-two right?” Eddie asked, getting Stan’s attention. The blond nodded, and was met with the door. The silver numbers were stamped beside it. Eddie smirked, “Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Oh, don’t be worried Stanny, I’m sure your boyfriend will be delighted to see you,” The brunet cooed, making Stan blush.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Besides, you’re the one holding my hand right now.” Stan lifted their conjoined hands so they were in Eddie’s eyesight. Eddie locked eyes with him.

“No homo.” Then he smooched the back of Stan’s hand.

“Your dick has literally been inside me, Eddie.” Stan said, unimpressed.

“The no homo covers that, don’t worry.” Eddie answered, like the little shit he was. He turned and knocked softly on the door.

“Come in.” The voice sounded like an old woman. Stan immediately checked the room number again, frowning when he saw that it was Richie’s room.

He’d barely starting thinking of what to do when they heard muffled laughter coming from inside the room. Jesus, Richie was getting good at stupid Voices. Stan believed that one for a few seconds.

The blond opened the door, peeking inside. Richie was laying in a hospital bed with a smirk, Bill and Beverly in the chairs at his left. Mike was at his right, sitting beside a blond guy with a gentle smile. His hands were politely placed in his lap, and Stan had to wonder why someone this nice looking was friends with the resident Trashmouth.

“Wow! The whole family’s here! Aren’t I a lucky duck,” Richie grinned.

“You asshole, I was scared for you.” Stan huffed, his mouth twisting into a frown. Richie’s grin faltered.

“Aw c’mon Officer, it was a joke!” Richie winked, “Speaking of, did you bring the cuffs I asked for?”

“Okay Eddie, we’re leaving.” Stan turned around, stifling a laugh when he heard Richie’s dismayed cry.

“No, Stanley, come on,” Richie whined, “No more joking I promise!”

When Stan turned back around, acting as if Richie had somehow convinced him, he was met with Richie’s friends looking completely shocked. Richie’s cheeks were flushed and he chuckled nervously.

“For now anyway.” He added on, which made his friends look suddenly relieved. Stan guessed ‘no more joking’ was something Richie never said. (And it made his heart do something stupid in his chest.)

“What happened to you?” Eddie asked, scanning him with his eyes. Richie wasn’t visibly ill, if anything he just looked… dirty. Like he was in desperate need of a shower. Stan wrinkled his nose in annoyance.

Richie smiled sheepishly. “You’re never gonna believe it.”

“Try me.” Eddie said, quirking one eyebrow up. Eddie has seen plenty of ridiculous hospital trips, ranging from someone breaking their neck from sucking too much dick, to getting a light bulb stuck in their ass. (Eddie didn’t ask his roommate of the day how or why the lightbulb got stuck in there, the look on the person’s face was enough of an answer.)

“Okay so, Big Bill bought me firecrackers and a bouncy house,” Richie started, and he was promptly interrupted.

“B-Because you _asked_ f-for th-them.” The redhead argued, as if that lessened the blame on his end for buying them in the first place.

“This might top the lightbulb guy.” Eddie mumbled, Stan nodding in agreement. Mike laughed, knowing all too well the story behind that one.

“Hey!” Richie whined, having enough context clues to know Eddie was teasing him. “In my defense, all the firecrackers were finished before I even looked at the bouncy house, right Ben?”

The blond, Ben apparently, thought for a moment. “Yeah I think so.”

“See! I was a good boy, even Ben agrees.” Richie crossed his arms over his chest, wincing as he pulled at the IV in his arm.

“I never said that.” Ben answered incredulously, making everyone laugh.

“Oh fuck off, I’m the best thing that ever happened to you losers.” Richie scoffed, titling his head up indignantly. Mike, Eddie and Stan fell silent.

Loser was a word the three hadn’t heard in a while. Stan started to crack his knuckles awkwardly, desperate for something to do to quiet the thoughts in his head. His hands started to make creaking noises after his third pass, and Eddie smacked his hands apart.

Eddie was chewing at his lip, cracking the skin until it turned red. Stan couldn’t smack his lips apart though, so he pretended he didn’t see him doing it. Mike was sitting quietly, smiling like nothing was wrong. The smile was a bit too strained though, giving away that he was uncomfortable.

The laughter died down, and Richie looked over at them with a grin. Stan did not let him meet his eyes, feeling ashamed that such a little word would make him so upset. Richie’s mouth twisted into a frown and Stan hated that he was the reason for it.

“E-Everything alr-right?” Bill asked, taking the lead in conversation when it fell flat.

Eddie’s mouth twisted into a pout, and Stan saw blood beading up on his bottom lip. “Haven’t been called a loser since High school.” The brunet said, his lip curling up slightly in disgust.

Mike nodded, his fake smile dwindling. “Reminds me of some shitty people back in Derry.”

“Well fuck,” Richie said dumbly. “Sometimes I forget that it’s not a compliment.”

“Nice one, Trashmouth.” Beverly laughed fondly, “Now Bill will never get married!”

Mike and Bill went red. “B-Bev!” Bill squeaked, “I n-never th-thought I’d have t-to say th-this to you, b-but; Beep f-fucking Beep?”

Stan let a half-smile twist his face, relaxing when Eddie started laughing. Within moments, the tenseness from before had washed away. Maybe it was Beverly’s infectious laugh or Bill and Mike getting completely flustered, but Stan left his hands alone and Eddie stopped biting down hard enough to bleed.

“Hey, if the firecrackers were done before you got in the bouncy house, how did you hurt yourself?” Eddie asked after the laughter and chatter died down. Richie brightened.

“Okay, so you’re never going to fucking believe this, but,” Richie started excitedly enough to get everyone in the same mood. Even Stan was hanging on his words. (Weird.) “There I was, crawling through the dangerous jungles of bouncicus housicus,” He said with a horrible Australian accent.

Eddie’s cheeks went red as he fought back laughter. “Oh my god, that Voice is awful,”

“Hey it’s a work in progress!” Richie whined, breaking character. He gestured to where Beverly was cackling. “Bev likes it!”

“Beverly laughs at everything you say.” Ben said very matter-of-factly with a sweet smile on his face. Richie nodded sagely, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She has good taste.” Then he blinked, “Anyway, I was minding my own business, and then I fell on my side.” Richie pulls the blanket aside, showing a cast that surrounded his midsection and his right leg. “Next thing I know my hip’s broken.”

Eddie covers his mouth to hide the almost laugh. “Wow, that’s horrible,” He mumbled with a wavering humored voice.

“Right! Like I’m not that old, damn!” Richie was way too loud to be in a hospital. Stan still found himself laughing, even if there was a nagging thought at the back of his head telling him to shut his mouth.

Eddie loses his composure and starts giggling, which Richie looks delighted about. He continued cracking jokes or generally saying things with Voices or funny deliveries.

Stan’s mouth and stomach start to hurt again but he can’t find it in himself to care. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so much.

“Mr. Tozier,” A woman said suddenly, knocking on the door frame. “Keep it down.”

Richie gave her a shitty grin. “It’s not my fault! I’m just talking and they’re laughing at me.”

The woman came in, rolling her eyes. There's an ID around her neck, so Stan can only assume that she’s Richie’s doctor. Stan snapped his mouth shut with a blush, scratching his neck idly as he looked away.

“Do you think you’re some kind of comedian? I’m getting noise complaints from everyone within a five mile radius of you.” The doctor said a little snippily, adjusting Richie’s IV for him.

The taller man smiled and Stan covered his face. He knows what’s coming. They all do.

“Yes I do, actually! Have you seen my Netflix special, Doc? You look like you could use a few good chucks.” It would’ve been rude coming from anyone else. Richie had this strange ability to be friendly with anyone.

“Right, Netflix special. I’m going to reduce your morphine dose.” She checked Richie’s vitals before leaving as swiftly as she arrived. Richie immediately started cackling.

“She really thought I was drugged, huh?”

Beverly smiled at him. “We would think so too if we haven’t known you since diapers, Rich.”

“Wait, so Richie has always been like this?” Eddie asked, his eyebrows pinched together.

“Yep!” Richie grinned, “I know, I’ve been a dreamboat since middle school. It’s a curse, Eddie baby.” Richie winked, twisting around to give Eddie a pair of finger guns. Then he winced, flopping back down onto the bed. His torso did not seem to like the sudden movement.

Eddie blushed furiously, saying nothing. Stan elbowed him with a knowing look.

“Shut the fuck up, Stanley.” He hissed.

“I didn’t say anything.” Stan said, making everyone laugh. His stomach flipped nervously and he tried not to show his anxiety on his face. Richie’s friends seemed to like him well enough, and Stan shouldn’t be anxious, but they were new people to impress.

Richie took the attention off him by pitching his new set. Apparently he’d had a few jokes centered around sour apple jolly ranchers and jaw stabbing. Why was Stan so surprised?

Eventually, visiting hours were over and people started to leave. Eddie was first, not wanting to drown in work tomorrow. Beverly and Ben left together, their hands entwined sweetly. Bill was next, and Mike left shortly after. 

It was just Stan and a mostly immobile Richie.

He checked his watch. “I should probably be going soon.” Stan said apologetically. Richie’s smile practically melts off his face.

“But didn’t you take a whole sick day?” The taller man whined. Stan struggled to not give in immediately.

“Well, yes, but–”

“C’mon, just a few more minutes?” Richie was outwardly begging now, and it made Stan’s heart flutter. “It’s so boring here. Everyone’s telling me to shut up and I can’t even post on Instagram without getting shushed.”

“I tell you to shut up too, Rich.” Stanley said, giving in and sitting back down beside the bed. Richie smiled.

“Yeah but it’s different because you’re cute.” The easy way Richie said it made Stan lose his composure. He flushed and picked at the cuffs of his button up.

“Am not.”

Richie groaned. “This again? On jod I will take you out to prove it.” Richie’s eyes drifted down toward his cast. “Maybe when this heals though.”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest. He knew it was a joke, so he didn’t respond to it. “I’ll stay for a few more minutes. You need to promise you’ll rest tonight though.”

Richie’s smile was blinding. “Yessir, Mr. President sir, anything you say sir.”

Stan sighed, trying not to smile like an idiot. “Maybe your morphine dose _should_ be lowered.”

“Nooo! This hurts like a bitch please don’t tattle on me.” Richie pressed his palms together, physically begging Stan. It was so dorky that Stan had to laugh again. Richie joined in, showing off the gap between his front teeth. _Cute._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (1:27 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: srry bout leaving u on read like that bev darling, my doctor thought i was doing the five-knuckle shuffle  
> (1:28 PM) MISS MARSH: You’re terrible. Stop making me laugh at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Bad Sex Jokes  
> Mentions of Sex  
> Self Loathing  
> Fear of Intimacy and Closeness/Vulnerability
> 
> Welcome back to Richie Tozier's new Netflix special: ONE-WAY HURRICANE

“Give it to me straight Doc, will I ever be able to fuck again?” Richie asked dramatically, trying to not move too much. His hip was still tender even though the cast was removed a week ago.

Dr. Opeli rolls her eyes at him and sets down her clipboard. “Mr. Tozier, what have I said about crude jokes?” She’d found his stuff on YouTube and lectured him on the plethora of dick jokes and blowjobs that Richie described in disgusting detail.

“C’mon, that one was funny.” Richie argued, leaning back with a smile. “I can see you, you giggled.”

“I did nothing of the sort.” She kind of reminded Richie of Stan, which brought a wider smile to his face. The blond had been continuously visiting him over the past five weeks, hovering over him anxiously as Richie healed. He’d only taken the one sick day thankfully, visiting Richie during his lunches instead. Richie would think his worrying was cute if it wasn’t threatening to make Stan go gray age 24. 

She checked Richie’s vitals again and then a genuine smile stretched her lips. “You’ll be ready to leave in a few days by the looks of it.” She adjusted his IV when Richie offered it to her, and then looked at him again. “No moving, get lots of rest, and make sure you’re eating well.”

“Not like I can go very far with three bruised ribs and a fucked up hip.”

Dr. Opeli nodded, leaving him to his own devices for a few hours of suffocating boredom. Richie was about ready to claw his eyes out when there were three sharp taps at his door.

“Come in!” Richie called excitedly, not even bothering with a funny Voice.

Stan opened the door, and slipped inside, closing it gently behind himself. He was wearing his usual fitted Armani suit and glossy black dress shoes, but his jacket was unbuttoned and over his shoulder. Richie didn’t know why Stan’s rolled up sleeves made him almost drool but here he was. Stupid, gay, and almost completely immobile.

“How are you feeling?” The blond asked, because he checked every single time he showed up without fail.

“Right as rain Stanny my boy! The doctor did give me some news though.” Richie said, fighting back a grin. He learned how to school his face ages ago. Stan looked worried immediately.

“What is it?”

“You might want to sit down.” Richie gestured to the seat on his right. Stan sat down quickly, as if he were under some sort of spell. Richie held his hand out and to his surprise, Stanley took it into his own. That simple action made his heart rate spike.

“Richie.” Stan said quietly, his blue eyes that used to be so cold were now filled with sympathy.

“She said I’ll never fuck again. I’m so sorry Stan, I know you wanted in on this,” Richie gestured to his whole body with a somber expression.

Stan ripped his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest. Richie broke into fits of laughter as Stan pouted.

“You’re such an asshole, you know how much I worry about you.”

He wouldn’t meet Richie’s eyes and the taller man sighed. “Aw Staniel, I thought we got that stick out your ass on our first date.” He teased, loving the blush that started to spread over Stan’s cheeks.

“That was a fake date and you know it.” Stan tucked a golden corkscrew curl behind his ear with a single manicured hand. “You still owe me, you know. I dropped everything that day.”

 _You dropped everything when you heard I was in the hospital, too._ Richie decided to keep that comment unspoken this time, not wanting to push the blond further. So, something else stupid came out of his big mouth instead.

“How about I make it up to you with a real date?” He’d already said something similar three times and Stan laughed it off, so he really didn’t have the faintest idea why he kept bringing it up.

Stan scoffed this time and Richie regrouped. “Fine Prissy Pants, how would you like to be rewarded? If not with a date with the man of your dreams.”

Stan looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking. “Definitely not with a bouncy house and firecrackers.”

Richie cackled. “Stan the man gets off a good one!” He reached for a high five, but his ribs protested the movement by throbbing and stinging aggressively. Stan eyed his hand that was still in the air, even as he winced. “Staniel, you have to meet me halfway, I’m injured.”

Simply reminding Stanley that he was injured did the trick. The blond sighed and gave him a half assed high five that Richie would literally cherish forever.

“I’m never washing this hand again.” He declared, taking on what he thinks is his best impression of an obsessed teenage girl. Stan wrinkled his nose. (Richie thought that habit of his was incredibly adorable.)

“Gross.” He unbuttoned his shirt pocket, pulling out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He offered it to Richie and the taller man turned his nose up at it.

“How dare you insinuate that I wash away the only part of me that my waifu will ever touch.” He smacked the hand sanitizer away indignantly. It didn’t get very far, spinning in the air momentarily before landing on the bed near Richie’s knees. Stan rolled his eyes and picked the bottle up, tucking it safely back in his shirt.

“I will give you a million shitty high fives if you agree to bathe.”

Richie sighed wistfully. “Oh, I’m so glad you know it was shitty. I was afraid to say it. Your form is all off.”

“Shut up, Rich.” Stan laughed, and Richie felt an excited shiver go down his spine. It was rewarding to make people laugh, but it was almost euphoric to make uptight people a little looser. He still can’t believe that it took one elevator panic attack and a spilled soda to get them here. 

“Okay Officer Uris, I’ll zip it.” Richie mimed zipping up his mouth, locking it and throwing away the key. Stan snorted, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

“Stop calling me Officer, I’m a lawyer, not a policeman.”

“I will stop when I’m dead, Stanley. On Jod.” Richie pointed to the ceiling again and Stan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head minutely. If he was less obsessed with the blond, he wouldn’t have noticed the small movement. He’s found that means Stan wants to laugh but he won’t actually do it to tease him.

“Besides, both the police and lawyers uphold the law. You’re supposed to argue it instead of enforce it.” Richie pointed out, making Stan blank. He hadn’t expected actual reasoning from the Trashmouth, after all.

“I do argue the law Richie, it’s my job.” Stan replied.

“Stop bossing me around then, Counsel.” Richie sassed, bringing another soft half-smile to Stan’s face.

“Someone did his homework on courtroom vocab.” He leaned his chin on his hand, blue eyes almost sparkling. Richie swallowed nervously.

“Yeah well, I wanted to fall asleep.” Richie fake yawned and stretched, “Oh man, just thinking about it is boring me right to bed.”

“Shut up.” Stan said fondly, checking his watch subtly. He must think Richie isn’t paying enough attention for him to notice it. “Do you know when you’ll be released?”

“ _Released_.” Richie mocked with his perfected Stanley Uris voice. “You make it sound like I’m being held captive.”

Stan got flustered at Richie’s impression and he huffed again. “Not like you can go anywhere with a destroyed hip, Richie.”

Richie tried to hide how happy he was to hear that. “That’s what I said!” His ribs throbbed angrily while he talked, and it was enough to make him quiet down just a touch.

Stanley stayed for ten more minutes before apologetically telling him that he had to go back to work.

“Aw, c’mon Stan! It’s so boring without you here!” Richie begged, having zero dignity. He wasn’t even ashamed of how much he wanted the blond around.

Stan unrolled his shirt sleeves, smoothing out the fabric. Richie quieted as he watched Stan get ready to leave. The blond pulled his jacket on and buttoned it back up when Richie remembered himself and whined.

“Stanley, Stan the Man, Stanny, Stanthony, Stanford, Stinky,” Richie took Stan’s hand and the blond sighed softly.

“Rich, you know I have to leave.”

Richie mimed wiping tears from his eyes. “Fair knight, before you abandon me to die all by my lonesome, accept this final token of my gratitude.” Richie made to plant a kiss on Stan’s jaw and the blond squeaked, pushing him away with a bitten back giggle.

“Richie! Stop dicking around!” Stan underestimated Richie’s strength, because the taller man managed to pull him down onto the bed with three cracked ribs. (Which was not allowed. If Richie’s doctor knew they were rough housing like this, Stan would be asked to leave.) “Rich!” Stan laughed, but he fell silent when Richie managed to press his lips against Stan’s cheek.

He made sure it was gross on purpose, so it came off as a joke. Stan pulled back with an annoyed groan, wiping his face with a tissue he seemed to procure out of nowhere.

“Oh! Would you look at that!” Richie pulled the blankets back and lifted his non-injured leg. “True love’s kiss has healed me!”

“Richie, that’s your good leg.” Stan said, patting Richie on the bad one. The taller man winced at the small ache that went through it.

“Damn, you’re not even going to let me placebo myself? You’re cruel Stanley.”

Stan rolled his eyes checking his watch again. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he hesitated. Richie watched as Stan “Most Likely to Succeed” Uris wobbled unsurely. “Get some rest.” Stan seemed to decide on, before cupping Richie’s cheek.

“Stan–?” Richie barely got his name out of his mouth before the blond covered it with a small peck.

“Bye,” Stanley murmured, pulling away. Three steps and he was out the door, barely making any noise to avoid disturbing other patients.

Richie melted into the hospital bed, trying to decipher exactly what had happened between teasing him and Stan leaving. There was loud beeping at his bedside, but Richie barely noticed it.

(1:20 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: bev  
(1:21 PM) MISS MARSH: Honey, I love you to pieces, but I can’t come visit today.  
(1:21 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: no bev i think something good happened? or maybe it was a bad thing? tbh im not sure yet. my brain has melted out of my ears  
(1:21 PM) MISS MARSH: Richie you’re not making any sense :( How much morphine are you on right now?  
(1:22 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: im literally only high on stanleys love  
(1:22 PM) MISS MARSH: Are you having another crush induced meltdown?  
(1:23 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: stanley kissed me on THE MOUTH  
(1:23 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: ON MY TRASHMOUTH

 _Okay yeah, reality was setting in. Stanley kissed him. And it didn’t seem like a joke. Oh god, that happened right?_ Richie poked himself on the hip, a jolt of pain going down his spine. Well he wasn’t dreaming.

(1:24 PM) MISS MARSH: What happened? I thought he and Eddie were dating? (Or did you already talk to him about that and forget to tell me)  
(1:24 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: bruh i dont even know i was being my usual disgusting ass self and then he gave me a one ended hurricane  
(1:24 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: also lmao no theyre not stan was just too much of a pussy to disappoint you  
(1:24 PM) MISS MARSH: Beep Beep, please don’t describe Stan’s mouth like that ever again.  
(1:25 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: how else do i describe it??????  
(1:25 PM) MISS MARSH: Idk but never like that.

Richie was about to respond when his door opened. Dr. Opeli was there, looking frazzled.

“What’s going on in here?” She asked, looking around the empty room.

Richie tilted his head to the side curiously. “Nothing much, Doc. Just having a gay existential crisis. Something up?”

“Your heart rate spiked a few minutes ago.” She checked her pager and then narrowed her eyes. “I told you to rest and not do anything strenuous.”

Richie cackled. “Oh man, did you think I was cranking it or something?”

Dr. Opeli grimaced. “I wish it wasn’t my job to respond to everything your heart monitor does. Stay out of trouble.” She left, having more important things to deal with.

(1:27 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: srry bout leaving u on read like that bev darling, my doctor thought i was doing the five-knuckle shuffle  
(1:28 PM) MISS MARSH: You’re terrible. Stop making me laugh at work.  
(1:28 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: its true! she came in and was all ‘dont do anything strenuous’  
(1:28 PM) FUCKFACE TOZIER: anyway i think i might be having an actual crisis rn

…

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to be rude, but are you sure you were awake?” Beverly asked, holding onto Richie’s hand firmly. Her hands were warm and comforting, never failing to ease Richie’s worry. Although Bill was their leader, Beverly was the Loser’s undeniable home.

“I wasn’t dreaming!” Richie whined, sinking into the bed. “It certainly felt like it though…”

Beverly made a whip cracking sound and Richie snickered softly. “Yowza, Miss Marsh gets off a good one.” He didn’t shout it like he normally would, and Bev picked up on it immediately.

“Aw honey,” Beverly’s thumb drew circles on the back of Richie’s hand. “This one is serious, huh?”

“I don’t know what to do Bev.” Richie murmured, squeezing her hand weakly.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried.” Beverly said with a smile. “ _He_ kissed _you_ , didn’t he?”

Richie sunk deeper into the hospital bed, the pillow squishing against his ears. “I mean… _yeah_ , but I’ve been making passes at him for five weeks. He might’ve done it to make me feel better or because he felt like he had to or something.”

Beverly squeezed his hand again, scooting closer to the bed until her knees gently pressed against the side of the mattress. “You could just ask him?”

Richie snorted. “Yeah, that’s a bright idea. _Hey Stanley, you know how you kissed me on the mouth even though I haven’t brushed my teeth in five weeks? Was that for realsies or because you felt obligated to? Just asking for a friend._ ” Richie mocked with a high-pitched voice.

Beverly grimaced. “You can brush your teeth in the hospital Rich.”

“I’m incapacitated. Fragile. Broken beyond repair. If I even move an inch from this spot I will surely perish.” Richie gasped dramatically, his ribs stinging with the effort.

“You’re disgusting is what you are. If Eddie hears that you haven’t brushed in weeks, he’s going to blow a gasket.”

Richie winked. “He’s gonna blow something when I’m done with him, alright.”

Beverly laughed behind her other hand. “Eugh, Rich, that’s so gross.” She giggled, lacing their fingers together. “Who do you want to bone, Eddie or Stan?”

Richie looked off into space pensively. “C, all of the above?”

Beverly snorted. “Well you can’t have both of them, honey. You’re not two-timing on my watch.”

“I know,” Richie laughed, feeling a little bit better and less freaked out. “I wouldn’t do that to Stan.” He meant every word. Richie Tozier wasn’t serious about much but when he was, G–d help anyone who tried to stop him.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Beverly smiled genuinely. “Just talk to him, Richie. It’s not as ridiculous as you think it sounds.” She leaned in and pressed a little peck against his nose and Richie smiled.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Stop nagging me.” He waved his hand dismissively before smiling. Beverly rolled her eyes humorously, not letting go of him for even a second. “Bev?” He murmured, looking away sheepishly. Beverly hummed softly to show she was listening. “Thanks for being here for me. I’d lose my head without you.”

Beverly smiled brilliantly then, showing off perfect rows of straight white teeth. Every time she smiled Richie was reminded of why Ben and Bill had been so head over heels for her as kids. “I’ll always be here for you Rich.”

Richie felt the urge to cry, but he shoved it down. “Yeah. I’ll be here too.”

Beverly kissed him on the forehead this time, a promise. “I know. I love you Richie. Don’t freak out too much, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Richie wished he could believe her. He smiled weakly despite himself. “Love you.”

They parted with a careful hug and Richie gave her a small kiss on the cheek. She left with the promise to return to pick him up and take him home when he was allowed to leave, and Richie smiled gratefully at her until she slipped out the door.

Stanley did not show up the next day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Richie found himself waiting for the blond to appear in the doorway, but then the sun would slide down in the sky and Stan would not be there. Was it his fault? Did Stan regret kissing him? Did Stan regret befriending him?

Richie tried not to freak out. He was good at repressing his feelings, usually, but once a week had passed Richie found himself on the phone with Bill, sobbing brokenly.

Bill was their leader for a reason. He may be impulsive at the worst times, but he always has a plan. Bill is trustworthy, and he never goes back on his word. Richie called because he needed someone steady, someone to tell him not what he wanted to hear, but what he needed to hear.

“I’m sorry Richie.” Bill murmured, his voice crackling through the phone. He hadn’t stuttered since Richie explained what was going on. “Maybe it’s for the best. As polite as he was, he didn’t seem very comfortable talking to anyone.”

“I know.” Richie gasped for breath, swallowing down another wave of tears. “I thought… I thought he liked me. I always get betrayed like this, the second I open up I’m shut down,”

“That’s not your fault.” Bill murmured softly. “You know we’ll always been here for you Rich. We love you.” He tried his best to console Richie, but their love wasn’t the same as Stan’s. They were his family– they had to love him.

“I thought he was different.” Richie muttered, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Bill sucked in a sharp breath. “I know Richie. I know. It’s gonna be okay.” He replied with a hushed tone. “In a few years this won’t even matter.”

“But it hasn’t been years, it’s been a week. I miss him.” Richie hated how pitiful he was being. Bill didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re here for you.” He murmured quietly again. Richie was sure that if he was here, Bill would be gently rubbing his back or shoulder. Beverly would be holding his hand and sitting beside him. Ben would offer a few choice words of comfort and a smile. Richie knew they would be there, that was a given.

“I love you, Bill.” Richie sobbed, his eyes stinging with the pain of crying for hours on end without pause.

“I love you too Richie. You’re gonna be okay. We’ve got you.”

Bill comforted him long into the night, not minding the time at all. Once Bill was set on a goal, he prioritized it over everything else. Richie knew he was Bill’s priority right now, and it warmed his heart. Bill never fails to put his Losers first, and that was probably why everyone had crushed on him at first. It was hard not to love the redhead when he was so determined and so caring, and so… unafraid. He was confident and he was fearless, and the Losers couldn’t help but love him.

When it neared one AM, Bill quietly asked him if he was okay to sleep. “You need rest, Richie.” His advice didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Richie nodded to himself, wiping his face with the scratchy hospital blanket one more time before heaving in a deep breath. His ribs ached and his hip was throbbing painfully from the gasps and sobs that tore through his throat throughout the night.

“Yeah… yeah okay. I’m sorry for keeping you on the phone so long.”

When Bill spoke next, Richie could hear the soft smile in his voice. “It– It’s your phone b-bill, Trashmouth.”

Richie laughed wetly in response, feeling like he hadn’t laughed in years. “You know I’d pay millions just to talk to you, Big Bill.”

There was a soft huff then as Bill chuckled under his breath. “G-Get some s-sleep.”

Bill didn’t hang up until they exchanged goodbyes, and around two AM the taller man finally fell asleep. He was completely exhausted from tearing himself apart and letting Bill analyze each piece, but he was glad he did it. He didn’t wake up once the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA GOTTEM


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hid the receipt so don’t bother looking for it.”  
> “It’s in your back pocket.”  
> “You’re mistaken. That’s your sister’s phone number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Slur (f*g)  
> Mentioned past racism  
> Mentioned past homophobia  
> Implied past suicide attempt (not graphic)  
> Trauma  
> Depressive episode  
> OCD Induced episode

Stan really hadn’t wanted to admit it, but over the past five weeks he’d become incredibly fond of Richie. So much so that Stan started considering him one of his best friends, which was a little concerning to the blond as he hadn’t actively gone out and made a friend since he met Eddie in sixth grade. Eddie and Mike were the only people Stan tolerated for thirteen years.

He’d never branched out before, and the few dates he had been on in middle school and high school didn’t really count as dates in Stan’s opinion. Stan was never affectionate with ‘past girlfriends’ because he usually felt nothing for them. It was just because he felt like he should. Because he’d gotten a note passed to him reading, “Lily like-likes you,” and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

And now Stan was falling. 

No, falling wasn’t quite right. Stanley Uris was _plummeting_ to the ground from a thousand feet up, and his parachute wasn’t opening no matter how hard he pulled at the string.

It was terrifying.

Stan felt something building on their stupid fake date, but he’d wanted to believe it was only friendship. They were just getting close, right? Stan was getting to know him, and he was finding new things to admire Richie for, and that was normal. He’d done the same when he met Eddie, hadn’t he?

Eddie didn’t seem to think so. At first, he told Stan that he was probably just horny and attracted to him. Which, okay _fair_ , Richie was an attractive person. Stan could live with that.

Then Richie got hurt. Stan hadn’t even hesitated to blow off work for him.

Eddie told him it was no longer lust or whatever Stan had felt to begin with.

 _“You’ve never taken a sick day in your life! I had to force you to take one in middle school when you had the fucking chicken pox, and even then you tried to show up to school the next day!”_ Eddie argued, looking at Stan like he was insane. And maybe he was. Maybe Richie was making him go a little crazy.

Despite this, Stan had managed to stay fairly composed around Richie. He teased back when Richie make jokes, he laughed and didn’t try very hard to hold it back, he rolled his eyes when Richie was being ridiculous, he told Richie to shut up even if he didn’t want Richie to actually shut up… It went normal. It was a normal day.

Richie decided to pull that shitty prank on him first thing, which wasn’t very funny because it gave Stan a heart attack, but that wasn’t unusual either.

Nothing was different. Stan knew this, and yet he still felt something had changed.

Over their conversation, he realized the problem lay with him. Just as Richie was pulling him in for an overly disgusting kiss, that was clearly a joke, Stan fell silent. He remembered every lingering touch that made his blood sing under his skin. He remembered the plethora of bird-related nicknames that Richie called him just to get him all flustered. All the simple things Richie had done for him– such small insignificant gestures that meant nothing to Richie, but the world to Stan.

Every borrowed Hawaiian print shirt. Every towel. Every picture taken. Every paper-thin white napkin offered as a joke just to make Stan smile.

And Stan made up his mind.

And he kissed him. It was a quick innocent press of lips against Richie’s stupid big mouth, nothing more nothing less.

Immediately after, Stan’s brain came back online and he quickly left the room with a hastily mumbled “Bye,” like a coward. He didn’t even look back to see Richie’s reaction, but he figured it wouldn’t be pretty.

Richie made a lot of crude jokes. After all– he _was_ a comedian and he did it for a living. He was good at turning any situation into a sexual innuendo that either involved you, your mom, or literally any other breathing person within a five-mile vicinity of him. He had insisted Stan go on a date with him at least a dozen times, and Stan just brushed it off with a scoff or an eyeroll.

Richie did not like him like that, it was simple. This was all a joke to him– something to tease Stan with when he was bored.

Stanley got into his car that day and drove back to work in a daze. He walked past Eddie’s office even though the brunet greeted him from behind his own laptop.

Stan dropped his briefcase beside his desk without watching where it landed, and then he sat himself down at his desk. He unbuttoned his jacket carelessly, sloppily folding it and placing it on the floor beside him.

It didn’t take Eddie long to come marching into his office, quietly and swiftly shutting the door behind him.

“Okay spill.” Eddie said, making Stan look up at him. The blond said nothing, and Eddie scowled. “Look, I know something happened. I can see it on your face. What did he say to you, huh?” Eddie came over to stand beside Stan’s seat, almost stepping on Stan’s jacket.

Eddie lifted it up off the floor with a grimace, shaking it out and hanging it on the mahogany coat stand in the corner of Stan’s office. _Oh right… that was where it was supposed to go._

“Do I need to go talk to him?” Eddie asked, narrowing his eyes.

Stan swallowed hard and shook his head. “No, he didn’t do anything.”

“Did he _say_ something?” Eddie was nearly growling, his overprotectiveness spilling out. He wasn’t even trying to hold it back.

“No.” Stan dug his teeth into his bottom lip, wanting to feel something. Everything was muted and blurred at the edges.

“Come on. Just tell me what’s wrong. I can’t spend hours trying to get a straight answer out of you, Stanley.” Eddie dropped his hand onto Stan’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. His hand was blisteringly hot even through a button-up and an undershirt. Stan leaned into the familiar warmth subconsciously.

“I did something really stupid.” Stan admitted, not meeting Eddie’s eyes out of complete and utter shame.

“You? Doing something stupid? Man, who would’ve guessed.” Eddie said sarcastically, but he was gently rubbing Stan’s shoulder now, to show him that he was kidding.

Stan snorted softly, “Shut up.” He said weakly, bringing his hand up to clutch Eddie’s. “I got too in my head I guess, and I wasn’t thinking about the consequences and… I kissed him.”

Eddie stared at him with wide, surprised eyes. “Good for you, Stan.” He said with a weird little smile, “I never thought you’d have it in you.”

Stan shouldn’t be praised for this. He was impulsive and sloppy, and he hadn't fucking thought before he went for Richie’s mouth.

Richie was the only person Stan had ever kissed besides Eddie. Stan wasn’t supposed to give something that special away so easily, right?

“Hey,” Eddie murmured with a softer voice. “Did something else happen that you’re not telling me?”

Stan buried his face in his hands and was completely mortified to feel tears sliding down his cheeks. Eddie cursed quietly under his breath, moving in to wrap Stan up in a hug.

“What is it Stanley?” Eddie said, his warm cheek pressed against Stan’s ice-cold face. Stan shook his head furiously, fruitlessly trying to wipe his eyes. “C’mon you can tell me. I’m not gonna make fun of you, I promise.”

When Eddie made a promise like that, Stan knew he was serious.

“I… I ran away. I ran away from him like a coward and he’s probably so f-fucking angry with me Eddie.” Stan clutched onto his friend with a vice-like grip, but Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He kept soothingly rubbing his hands up and down Stan’s back, hushing Stan when his sobbing threatened to get louder.

“Shhh Stanley, you’re okay,” Eddie murmured softly, tracing a circle when his hands reached the small of Stan’s back. “He’s not going to be angry with you. This is a good thing, remember?”

“It doesn’t feel like a good thing.” Stan blubbered like a toddler, “It’s so weird and new and I hate it Eddie, I hate it so much.”

“You don’t hate it.” Eddie said, “The change is just a lot, yeah?”

Stan nodded again, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “It’s too much, I can’t deal with this,” He remembered sobbing into Eddie’s shoulder just like this when they were applying to college. Stan had been overwhelmed with the idea of moving to LA, even if it sounded good to begin with. It was the change in his surroundings, the process of slowly moving and becoming more detached from New York, that made him so sick with worry.

Stan clutched Eddie tighter, grateful that he’s had the brunet by his side all these years. “I’m sorry I’m such a freak about small things Eddie. I can only imagine how exhausting it is for you to calm me down every time.”

“You’re not a freak.” Eddie’s hand slid into Stan’s hair, and if the blond hadn’t been crying seconds ago, he would’ve complained about Eddie messing it up. “And if it was exhausting, I wouldn’t do it. I don’t like you enough to ignore my own feelings, Stanley.” Eddie pulled back a bit, giving Stan a soft smile.

Stan snorted weakly. “Yeah. It’ll be a cold day in hell when someone makes Eddie Kaspbrak do something he doesn’t want to.”

“Damn right.” Eddie said confidently, squeezing Stan’s shoulder. Stan slumped into the brunet, noticing that his face reached Eddie’s chest when he sat in a chair.

“Hey, we’re almost the same height when I sit down.” Stan joked, but his voice didn’t want to sound lighthearted. His vocal chords made him seem so neutral and distant, and Stan hated it.

“Oh shut up asshole.” Eddie huffed with a smirk twisting his lips to the side. His fingers straightened Stan’s hair out for him, brushing stray curls behind Stan’s ears. The blond met his eyes and if he looked disgusting, Eddie didn’t show it on his face. He slid his thumb under Stan’s eye, wiping tears and loose eyelashes away.

“Are you done upsetting yourself, now?” Eddie asked, his hand settling firmly against Stan’s cheek. Stan leaned against it and sniffled loudly.

“I don’t know. I think I have another pity party scheduled at three.” Stan said, sniffling again. His nose was red and stuffed up and he hated how nasally his voice was because of it.

Eddie reached behind him onto Stan’s desk, pulling a box of tissues from the spot Stan always kept them in. He lifted a tissue from the box with two fingers and handed it to Stan. The blond blew his nose even though it was disgusting to do it in front of another person.

“If you need me, I’m right here, yeah?” Eddie said. Stan looked up at him and Eddie’s cheeks had splotches of red across them. “Mike is too, obviously.” He added, even though they both knew their friend was incredibly busy with the bookstore he was opening.

“Yeah…” Stan mumbled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand again. “I know.” His eyes were starting to sting a little from how dry they were. _‘Eddie probably has eye drops with him,’_ Stan thought, smiling to himself. That was Eddie’s brand; grossly over prepared twenty-four seven.

“Are you gonna be okay if I go back to work?” Eddie asked, sounding like he’d drop all of his clients if Stan needed him to stay. The blond nodded quietly, reaching up to place his hand over Eddie’s on his cheek. He squeezed it lightly.

“I’m an adult, Eds. I’ll wash my face and be good as new.” He needed to work anyway. If he blew off another full day his boss might ask him to look into therapy.

“Okay…” Eddie said, making to step back toward his office. “I’m right down the hall.”

“I know.” Stan replied as Eddie took his hands away. He already missed the comforting touch. “I’ll come by if I need anything.”

Eddie pointed at him threateningly. “You better.”

…

Stanley Uris was a fucking coward. He’d known since he was young; running from school bullies with Eddie’s asthmatic ass hot on his tail.

He used to hide in bathroom stalls, pressed against Eddie’s side and holding his breath for fear that he’d start sobbing and get them caught.

He’d wake up from nightmares, clutching his sweat soaked pillow to his face to cry into it, having just imagined Eddie and Mike leaving him behind.

He wasn’t physically and emotionally strong like Mike, who’d already gone through so much and had racist assholes from Derry stacking more trauma on top of it. He wasn’t brave like Eddie, who once kicked a bully in the teeth after being called a fag.

Stan was brittle. He always needed to take a step back to piece himself together for fear that someday he’d shatter completely. And he knew. He knew how pathetic he was, even if Eddie and Mike were too nice to ever say it to his face.

He knew it was ridiculous to cry over shirt tags, spills, and disorganized book shelves.

He knew it was ridiculous to cry over Richie Tozier.

And yet he did it anyway.

The next day came and Stan didn’t visit Richie in the hospital, though the worry and the guilt was eating him alive. He sat at his desk, going through the motions as his brain was miles away, imagining Richie getting horrible news from the doctor and being alone for it. Thoughts of Richie losing feeling in his leg, or falling down on the way to the restroom, or going into surgery alone with no one to hold his hand and tell him, _“I’m here for you.”_

He didn’t leave his office until Eddie made him, dragging him home and sitting him down on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a traumatized victim of a horrible crime.

Eddie didn’t make him go see Richie, which was a little surprising considering their high school years. When they were younger, avoiding something was never an option for Stan. If he wanted to talk to someone at school but was too scared to actually go through with it, Eddie would physically push him over and leave him standing in front of the person until Stan nervously filled in the blanks. It wasn’t like the brunet to ignore confrontation, and Stan was simultaneously relieved and terrified.

A week passed by, and Eddie was sitting beside him on the couch, rubbing Stan’s arm like he was trying to get the feeling back into it. Stan looked at him through the corner of his eye and took a deep breath.

“Why aren’t you upset with me?” Stan asked, knowing just how much Eddie hated it when Stan blatantly ignored his issues.

Eddie frowned, his hands pausing but not pulling away. “Do you want me to be upset with you?”

Stan swallowed hard and looked down at his lap. “No… I don’t know.”

Eddie sighed deeply. “I don’t want to yell at you or force you to do anything when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Stan asked, already knowing the answer. Eddie huffed with annoyance.

“Like that time in middle school when Natalia Pederson publicly asked you out to the Winter Formal and you were too afraid to let her down gently.” Eddie squeezed his arm. “I’m not going to force you to do anything when you’re this freaked out. I’m not a monster, Stanley.”

Stan chewed his lip. “Am I really acting that strange?”

Eddie gave him a look. “Your left shoe is untied. And you skipped a button on your shirt.” He pointed at a gap in Stan’s shirt. “And it’s untucked. And you’re not wearing your belt.”

Stan hadn’t even realized he wasn’t dressed properly.

“And you’re gonna hate me for saying this, but you look like you haven’t taken a shower in a few days.” He pulled one of Stan’s curls over his eyes. His normally blond hair was stringy and dark brown from the grease in it. Stan wanted to throw up.

“Fuck…” Stan said, suddenly feeling his unbrushed teeth for the first time. How long had it been since he took care of himself properly?

“How about you go take a bath?” Eddie suggested before backtracking immediately. “Or a shower. Shower might be better.”

Stan nodded weakly.

“While you’re getting cleaned up I can order some takeout. Then we can talk. Alright?”

Talk meant Eddie was going to give him an impromptu therapy session. Stan swallowed hard and nodded again in agreement.

He took a brisk three minute shower, scraping his fingers down his scalp and pulling shampoo aggressively through his hair. He was ashamed that he hadn’t noticed how bad it had gotten until Eddie pointed it out. After the shower, he brushed his teeth in forty five second intervals. Apply toothpaste, brush for twenty seconds, spit, flush his mouth with water, repeat. He had to do this four times until he was satisfied.

Then he carefully got dressed, buttoning his shirt up slowly, making sure the buttons all laid flat over his chest. He straightened it out before pulling on a pair of sleep shorts that nearly matched the shirt. The colors weren’t quite the same though, and it made his skin crawl.

He had to remind himself that he’s slept in mismatched pajamas before and _he’s not going to die in a gruesome fire if he doesn’t wear pajamas that are the exact same color and material._

He exited the bathroom after blow drying his hair for a full eight minutes, and noticed white takeout boxes stacked on top of his kitchen counter.

“Did you already pay?” He asked, looking for a receipt.

“Oh no you don’t,” Eddie said, grabbing him by the wrist and sitting him down at the table. “I hid the receipt so don’t bother looking for it.”

“It’s in your back pocket.” Stan said, eyeing the strip of white paper poking out of the pocket on Eddie’s red sweatpants.

Eddie didn’t move to pull it out and set a couple of the boxes on the table in front of Stan. “You’re mistaken. That’s your sister’s phone number.”

Stan snorted softly. “I don’t have a sister.”

Eddie didn’t respond to that, seemingly happy that Stan was talking semi-comfortably. He sat down beside him and didn’t force any conversation while they ate.

He didn’t even mention the tears that came to Stan’s eyes when the blond noticed that Eddie got his stupid order perfect.

“So,” Eddie started when all the boxes were cleared away. “You wanna tell me why you’ve been ignoring Richie? Or are you gonna make me guess.”

Stan sighed and reached up to scratch his neck. “I don’t know.”

Eddie groaned. “Great, cool, I love playing twenty-questions with you,” He said sarcastically. “Are you afraid he’s going to be upset with you?”

Stan wanted to laugh, “I mean… obviously. I know he’s upset. I kissed him and then didn’t visit him in the hospital after it for a straight week.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay, that’s a good sign that you recognize you were acting stupid.”

“Shut up.” Stan huffed quietly.

Eddie shrugged. “Well, you were. I’m not going to lie to you.”

Stan fell silent and dug his fingers into his hair, pulling at it just enough to make his scalp sting.

“Are you worried that he’s going to yell at you?” Eddie asked, grabbing his hand and physically pulling it away from where he was hurting himself. He set it down on Stan’s lap with a passive aggressive pat to the back of it.

“No… I don’t think Richie is the yelling type.” Stan figured since Richie was loud all the time, he would be quiet when angry. Terrifyingly quiet.

“I don’t think so either.” Eddie agreed. Stan paused again, and Eddie rolled his eyes. “You want me to tell you what I think is going to happen?”

Stan nodded silently.

“I think, you’re going to go see him, you’re going to talk it out, and everything is going to be fine.” Eddie said, lying right to Stan’s face. He said it with so much authority that Stan couldn’t help but feel soothed by it, though.

“If I go see him.” Stan mumbled.

“You’re going to go see him.” Eddie repeated sternly. “Tomorrow, actually.”

Stan’s heart rate spiked. “Eddie, I can’t,”

“You can.” Eddie grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “And you will.”

…

Stan found himself standing outside room 1002, anxiously adjusting his jacket. There were no voices coming from inside, but Stan knew he was in there. He double and triple checked that it was in fact, still Richie Tozier’s room with the nurse at the front desk. Stan was too freaked out to care that he was annoying the absolute hell out of them.

He lifted his hand, leaving his jacket button alone, and knocked three times in evenly spaced out intervals.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Richie, I’m not really considered conventionally attractive.”  
> “Stan the Man gets off a good one!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Isolation  
> Slight Internalized Homophobia (“Experimenting”)  
> Self Loathing  
> Grief - Mention of Georgie  
> Fear of Intimacy and Closeness/Vulnerability  
> Flirting  
> Mentions of Sex/Innuendos
> 
> Welcome back to Richie Tozier's new Netflix special: THE L WORD

Richie’s hip was supposed to be fully healed four days ago, but clearly nothing goes the way he wants it to. He’s been confined to the hospital bed for a little over a week now, and Dr. Opeli is getting incredibly frustrated with his state.

“You’re sure you aren’t moving too much?” She asked, folding a page over on her notepad. Richie sighed, having lost most of his patience.

“I told you, I’ve barely gotten up for the bathroom. The few times I needed to get up, I had someone help me walk there.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, idly pulling at the bags under them.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Dr. Opeli sighed before straightening her spine into a more professional stance. “Perhaps an increased dose of painkillers will help… maybe it’s the lack of exercise…”

“First don’t move, now move a lot?” Richie groaned. “It already hurts to breathe, dude”

Dr. Opeli sighed, muttering to herself. She was thinking out loud, and before Richie could ask what decision she’d come to, she left.

And Richie was alone again.

He dropped his head back onto the pillow, staring at the white ceiling until his vision blurred. It was bad enough being injured, but being alone was what was really taking its toll on him. He had his phone and he was allowed to text, so he hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth, but it certainly felt like it.

Out of pure boredom, he snapped a picture of himself, posting it onto twitter with a stupid caption.

**Richie Tozier ✔ @tra$$hmouth**

_Image Description: Richie is giving the camera a peace sign, deliberately showing the IV still in his arm. He’s leaning back against the headboard of his hospital bed, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt that has been seen on Benjamin Hanscom’s private instagram._

**Day 3676: i fear i may never get out of this hellhole. to billiam, i leave my favorite porn mags and the Your Mom card.**

The tweet had barely been up for ten minutes and Bill was already tagged by one of Richie’s followers.

The redhead responded immediately.

**William Denbrough ✔ @billdenbrough89 replied: @tra$$hmouth I will confiscate your phone**

They went back and forth for a while, being spurred on by their followers and Beverly, who absolutely shouldn’t be on her phone since she’s supposed to be hosting a show. Bill and Richie didn’t hesitate to roast her for that, and it was fun enough to bring a smile to Richie’s face for a little bit.

When the sun started to set though, Richie was remided of how empty and dark his room was. He texted Bill, asking him to come over, but Bill claimed he needed to edit a chapter of his novel. This one was about teenagers getting chased by killer clowns. (Or something like that… Richie admittedly didn’t pay much attention when Bill rambled on.)

“So you can be on twitter, but the second I want to hang you have work to do?” Richie mumbled to himself, trying not to take out his anger on his friend. He shot a quick good luck text to Bill before switching his phone off, bathing himself in the inky blackness of his hospital room. He closed his eyes to get some sleep, but the beeping of his heart moniter kept him awake.

The IV digging into his arm wasn’t exactly soothing either. Richie tried his best to ignore it, and just as he was getting drowsy, there was a noise from the corner of the room.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Three knocks, spaced out exactly three seconds apart.

Richie felt his breath catch in his throat.

What is _he_ doing here?

He stayed quiet, hoping Stan would just give up. The shadow underneath Richie’s door didn’t budge, and after a long quiet minute, Stan knocked again.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

They were one second apart now, Stan was clearly nervous. Richie rubbed his hands over his face exasperatedly before shifting up onto his elbows.

“Hello?” He called, watching the shadow flutter in front of his door. Stan was shifting nervously, and if Richie had better ears, he would’ve heard the clicking from Stan anxiously biting his nails. “I can’t get up to let you in.” Richie said when Stan didn’t move to come inside.

The door knob turned, and light flooded Richie’s room. Stan nervously peeked in, half-in and half-out of the room. His hair was lit up by the white hallway, making him look stupidly angellic in his dove-gray suit.

Richie probably looked like shit in comparison. He forced a lopsided grin onto his face.

“I don’t bite.” Richie said, quirking one eyebrow up at how spooked Stan seemed to be. “Unless you ask me to, in which case, say goodbye to your skin.”

Stan let out a stunted breath that could’ve passed as a laugh if it wasn’t for the way he was shifting his weight between his feet. “What does that even mean?”

“Do you want to find out?” Richie asked, having zero control of his mouth.

“I think I’m good on that.” Stan said, finally stepping all the way in. He gingerly shut the door behind himself. “Did you want it to be scarily dark in here or can I turn on the light?”

Richie jokingly hissed like a vampire, but Stan just blinked at him with wide eyes. “Whatever, you can turn it on. I don’t care.” He slumped back into the bed with annoyance, and Stan flicked the light switch up. Richie shut his eyes until the light stopped hurting.

When he opened them, Stan was still awkwardly hovering near the door, like he was planning to escape if this visit didn’t go exactly as planned.

“You alright over there, chief?” Richie asked, surpressing the frown that wanted to come to his face. _Chief? Who the fuck says that?_

Stan chewed his lip nervously, cracking the skin as he pulled it with his teeth. “I’m fine.” He said, but it was an obvious lie.

Richie wasn’t the type to let shit fester by ignoring it. He may be a trashmouth, but he wasn’t a pussy.

“Look dude, you’re clearly not.” He hit the ‘dude’ hard to let Stan know that he knew the kiss was a mistake. “Just forget about the kiss, okay? I’m not pissed off with you for experimenting or whatever.”

Richie had been hoping and begging and pleading anything that was listening that it wasn’t just a joke, but… he knew regret when he saw it on someone’s face.

“No I–!” Stan’s voice choked off into a weird whine.

Richie frowned at him. “Dude, really, I get it,”

“No you don’t!” Stan’s lips were quivering like he was fighting off the urge to sob. His knees were shaking.

“Stanley. I’m not mad at you.” Richie wasn’t well versed in comfort. That was Ben’s ballpark, really.

Stan covered his face and took three deep breaths that shook on the way out. Richie stared, but he didn’t dare say anything. An upset Stan was hard enough to deal with, but _crying_ Stanley? Richie would fuck that up six ways to Sunday and probably make it worse.

“Why aren’t you?” He was almost pleading. “Why aren’t you fucking furious at me for being such a freak?”

Richie decided that was it. He threw the blankets off himself and stood from his bed, even though his hip protested the movement angrily. Stan snapped to attention with wide eyes as Richie advanced, his hands held up in front of himself– ready to block a punch.

Richie grabbed Stan by the shoulders and pulled him into a bruising hug. Stan trembled against him, his hand curled into a fist and pressed against Richie’s chest like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Don’t call yourself a freak like that ever again.” Richie demanded, squeezing Stanley a little tighter. The blond gasped for air through whimpers that didn’t quite turn into sobs. “I get it, okay? You were curious. That’s fine. It doesn’t make you a freak Stan–”

“Richie you fucking asshole,” Stan warbled, “I’m in love with you. _And I’m sorry._ ”

Richie never thought he’d hear those words. “What?” He asked, even though they both knew he heard it. Stan whimpered, trying to steady himself like Richie was going to drop him any second.

“Please don’t be mad, please Richie, I can’t–” He covered his mouth with his other hand, his whole body trembling. He looked down at the floor, gritting his teeth to try and stop a second wave of tears.

“Stan… don’t fuck with me right now,” A scared laugh came from Richie’s mouth without his permission, “You don’t have to do this because you want me to feel better.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Stan’s fist closed tighter, digging his nails into his palm. “Did you think I would… I would fake being in love with you just because you broke your hip?”

Richie laughed again. It sounded ridiculous when it came out of Stan’s mouth. “I didn’t think you would I just… needed a reason for it. No one could love this trashmouth without an ulterior motive, right?” Richie’s joking tone fell flat when Stan looked at him with his beautiful blue eyes. Tears were clinging to his eyelashes, and his eyebrows were pinched together, making a little crease above his nose. Richie wanted to smooth it out with his thumb.

“I love you, Richie.” He sounded more sure of it now, but his tone still held that fear in it. The fear that other people would find out that you’re not ‘normal.’ (A fear Richie knew all too well.)

“Stanley…” Richie huffed, gripping Stan’s neatly ironed suit until it wrinkled.

“Yeah?” Stan replied, his fist uncurling and pressing flat against his chest.

“I need to sit down.” He blurted, shifting back to show Stan the cast, like it was the first time the blond had seen it.

Stan blinked and his eyes were filled with a different kind of worry. He didn’t say anything as he helped Richie over to the bed so he could lay down in a comfortable position.

Richie hissed quietly, shifting in the bed until his lower half stopped aching. “Oh, that’s definitely gonna set me back a bit.” He muttered to himself, adjusting the blankets around himself. Stan helped tuck him in, guilt clear on his face.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about your leg,” Stan smoothed the blankets out with a careful hand and Richie couldn’t help but track the movement with his eyes.

“Stan.”

Stan paused at the sound of his name, staring at Richie with wide eyes and red cheeks. His fingers had stilled on top of the blankets as if he were frozen in time.

Richie struggled to find his words. “Do you remember the Your Mom case thing that I wrote?”

Stan’s lips suddenly quirked up in surprised amusement. “Hard to forget something as ridiculous as that.”

Richie laughed, more out of relief than anything else. Stan was finally acting somewhat like himself. “I saw you on a billboard that day.” Richie started, already feeling ridiculous. “The one on the one-thirty-four freeway?”

Stan went completely red. “I didn’t think anyone would find that.”

“It’s a billboard Stan,” Richie chuckled, “You thought no one would see it?”

“No I mean like… anyone I knew. Eddie doesn’t even know about it. He lives in West Hollywood.” Stan looked extremely put out that Richie stumbled upon his ‘secret’ ad. “The person who was going to do it didn’t show up and since I was the only one at the office my boss manipulated me with extra vacation time.”

“That’s hilarious.” Richie said, getting a glare from the blond.

“You better not turn this into a bit.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it Stan the Man.” Richie promised, before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Uh, anyway I’m glad I saw it.”

Stan pouted. “Why? I look so ridiculous.”

“You look like a literal five-course meal, Stanley.” Despite his blunt tone, Richie blushed nervously. “I almost crashed my car when I saw it.”

Stan seemed to have connected the dots. “Wait… did you write that case _after_ seeing the billboard?”

“Oh yeah.” Richie sighed, cringing to himself. “I needed an excuse to see you that was on brand.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Stan blurted impulsively, “You wrote a joke case to get in my pants.”

“It’s what any sane man with eyes would do!” Richie tried defending himself, “Have you seen yourself?”

Stan didn’t seem to react well to flattery. His face got redder and he pouted, looking surpremely embarrassed. “Richie, I’m not really considered conventionally attractive.”

Richie actually cackled. “Stan the Man gets off a good one!”

“I’m not joking!” Stan snapped, “No one’s ever had a crush on me and I sure as hell have never been on a date. I don’t think middle school dates count.”

If Richie’s jaw could’ve physically dropped down to the floor, it would’ve. “No, you’re shitting me. Not one?”

Tiny frustrated tears came to Stan’s eyes. “It’s not funny, Rich.”

“You’re damn right it’s not funny.” Richie said, and Stan blinked up at him out of shock. “It’s a fucking tragedy. We need to fix this like, yesterday.”

Richie opened his phone, scrolling through his calender for a free day. “Are you available next Sunday?”

Stan looked like he was going to faint. “You… you actually want to take me out?”

“Pretty sure I asked you out the second I laid eyes on you, Stanley.” Richie snorted, feeling a little upset that Stan was so surprised. With how beautiful and amazing this man was, he should be getting asked out every five seconds at the very least.

“I thought that was just a joke.” Stan mumbled.

“Did you think all the other times were jokes too?”  
The embarrassment painted on Stan’s face was all Richie needed to see.

“Look at me.” Richie said, getting Stan’s eyes on him immediately. “I want you to know that I meant it. I meant it every time I said it.”

Stan’s entire face flushed and he looked down at his lap. Richie took his hand and squeezed it. “So, Sunday? If my hip is better by then, anyway.”

A small, bashful smile spread Stan’s thin lips. “Yeah,” His voice wobbled a little, “Sunday works for me.”

…

Just having Stanley there seemed to speed up his healing process to Dr. Opeli’s delight, who wanted him gone since he showed up. Richie honestly couldn’t blame her– he was a nuisance on good days. 

His cast was taken off just a few days after Stan showed back up, and Richie was allowed to keep it (which he was way too excited about given his age.)

The Losers had all signed it for him– even Eddie had signed his name one of the two times he visited with Stan. Mike had signed it too, doodling a little smiley face next to his name and a sweet message that honestly warmed Richie’s heart. He was grateful for all of them, but as always Stan completely stole Richie’s attention.

Stan’s signature wasn’t anything special; he’d just written his name and ‘get well soon’ in perfect cursive with plain black pen, but Richie would rather break his other hip than throw it away.

“Maybe it was true love’s kiss,” Richie suggested cheekily as they left the hospital. Stan had his arm around Richie’s shoulders, supporting him even though the taller man had been provided with a crutch.

“Believe whatever you want, Rich.” Stan said with a hint of a smirk. “I still think you got better faster because you stopped wallowing in self-pity.”

“Agree to disagree.” Richie replied as Stan helped him into the car. The blond laughed, rolling his eyes fondly.

“That’s not at all how this works.” Stan shut the door and walked around the car, getting into the driver’s seat. Richie didn’t try to hide the way he stared at the light hitting Stan in all the right places. “I’m right one hundred percent of the time. You signed up for this.”

Richie hummed, feeling a little stupid with how lovesick he was. “Sure did Staniel.” He rested one of his hands over Stanley’s, even though he knew the blond hated moving from the ten-two position on the wheel. “You also signed up for a lifetime of bad jokes and broken bones, though. So who’s really winning here?”

Stan pulled out of their parking spot. “I am.” He lifted Richie’s hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it absently, like he was simply going through the motions. “I never lose.”

Richie tried not to get choked up. “The day your competitive ass loses is the day the world implodes.” At Richie’s words, Stan cracked a small smile that was just for him. The same private smile that Richie thought he’d never see.

He squeezed Stan’s hand three times. The blond seemed startled, because his cheeks went a light pink. He gave Richie’s hand three in return and Richie knew he’d guessed right.

…

“Bill, you owe me, remember?” Richie said as he dragged his friend behind him through the mall. Richie had just gotten out of the hospital, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to go for a short shopping trip.

“I th-thought the, the b-bouncy house w-was enough?” Bill replied, sounding as exasperated as he looked.

“Yeah and it got me in the hospital.” Richie made sure to smile so Bill didn’t feel guilty. The redhead simply rolled his eyes at the sight of it. “C’mon dude, you know I don’t know shit about clothes. This is a compliment to your fashion sense, really.”

Bill rubbed his hands over his face, following Richie into the H&M. “If Bev-Beverly knew you w-were asking me f-f– for fashion advice instead of h-her, she’d ki-kick your ass.”

“But she doesn’t know,” Richie snarked childishly, pulling a shirt down from a rack to get a better look at it.

“Richie, _no_ ,” Bill said sternly, swiftly taking it and putting it back with a resounding metallic clink.

“What? What was wrong with that one?”

“It w-was striped _and_ polka d-dotted.” Bill rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “L-Look, Stan seems like a, a very f-fashionable person.” Richie nodded silently, to show that _duh, he already knew that, Billiam._ “You w-want to impress him, yeah?”

“No, I want him to regret ever meeting me.” Richie deadpanned, getting a blank, annoyed look from his friend. “Of course I want to impress him Bill.”

“Okay, _so_ ,” Bill grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him away from the 75% off rack. “You need t-to, to look your best.”

“Are you saying I’m not already drop dead gorgeous, William?” Richie gasped indignantly, his voice meshing with the British Guy impression.

Bill didn’t bother responding to that, picking out a black suit jacket. It seemed normal enough, which made Richie grimace. Bill glared disapprovingly, “D-Don’t make th-that f-face.” He held it up to Richie’s torso and the taller man grumpily allowed it.

Bill ended up picking a nice pair of black jeans, ‘w-with no rips, Ri-Rich,’ a pair of black dress shoes that Richie will never wear again, and a button-down maroon shirt.

“Where are you p-planning on t-taking him again?” Bill asked when they reached the counter.

“Lawry’s.” Richie said simply, ignoring the way Bill stared at him. The redhead’s mouth nearly dropped to the floor and his eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“Dude, on-once I asked y-you for dinner and you, you gave me a p-pizza slice th-that fell on the f-floor.”

“And?” Richie kept his eyes locked on the employee scanning the clothes Bill had approved.

“R-Richie, one appetizer at Lawry’s costs f-forty fu-fucking dollars.” Bill got a glare from the H&M employee for cussing but he didn’t even glance at them, simply handing his card over when he needed to pay. Richie huffed quietly, reminding himself to hide a couple twenties in Bill’s jacket before he leaves.

“Okay, so maybe I’m serious about Stan. Stop looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.” Richie took the bag, throwing it over his shoulder dismissively as he started walking out. Bill struggled to keep up with his much shorter legs.

“I’m j-just, weirdly pr-proud of you? You never used to put th-this much effort into dates.”

“None of those dates mattered.” Richie said, feeling how stupid-hot his face got after saying that. He didn’t care though, he’d make a fool out of himself in front of Bill anyday for Stanley.

Bill took hold of Richie’s elbow with an honest smile. “If tomorrow goes w-well, you’re dress– dressing yourself for the n-next one.”

“Aw, you don’t want to doll me up, Bill?” Richie snickered. “What if I make you my best man someday? Then that’ll be your whole job.”

Bill gasped dramatically, and Richie would’ve taken the piss for it if he could get his lungs working again. “No, _Richie Tozier_ isn’t already p-planning his wedding,”

Richie couldn’t find it in himself to argue and Bill nearly squealed like a school girl. “Dude, shut up!” Richie groaned, trying to stop the teasing that he knew was coming.

“Y-You’re completely wh-whipped!” Bill exclaimed with a shit eating grin. “Tr-Trashmouth Tozier is in love–!”

“Don’t say that word!” Richie protested, dragging Bill out of the mall with bright red cheeks.

“I’m f-fucking right th-though!”

“Oh who’s right? I thought you were fucking Mike.” _Flawless recovery Richie, maybe the joke would take the attention off you if your face wasn’t red hot to the touch._

Bill still sputtered indignantly and Richie counted it as a win. “Beep Beep!”

“You get to beep beep me for a joke but I can’t beep you when you say the L word?”

“Stop being a– a child.” Bill whacked him on the arm, following Richie to the parking lot to get into his car. “It’s not the f-first time you’ve loved someone.”

Richie frowned, unlocking his car to throw the bag in the trunk.

“Are you serious?” Bill asked with a hushed, awed tone, floored that Richie Tozier lied about all those ‘past loves’ when they were teens. 

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up, it’s the first time I’ve loved since I met you losers, you caught me.” Richie dropped himself in the driver’s seat, but Bill surprised him with a tight embrace. It was rare for Bill to hug anyone; the redhead had confessed one drunken night in highschool that Georgie had been a hugger, and hugging people for Bill, was kind of like scratching open a deep wound.

Richie returned it, trying to fight the dumb smile the threatened to stretch his face.

“You b-better not f-fuck this one up, Trashmouth.”

“Working on it, Big Bill.”

…

“No peeking!” Richie exclaimed, putting both hands over Stan’s eyes even though it was dangerous to not use his crutch.

“Richie,” Stan chuckled, reaching up to gently place his hand over Richie’s. The sound was like music to the taller man’s ears.

“Nuh uh, you’re not sweet talking yourself outta this one, Uris.” Richie steered the blond to the restaurant, Stan giggling soflty beneath his breath as they walked. The blond was wearing what looked to be his most expensive outfit, and he seemed borderline giddy when Richie picked him up from his apartment.

Richie was relieved that Bill forced him into a suit; if he dressed casually like he wanted to, he would’ve panicked after seeing Stan’s outfit instead of getting to enjoy how good the blond looked.

Stan’s navy blue suit seemed to be tailored specifically for him, and Richie couldn’t keep his eyes off him for more than a moment.

“Richie c’mon, we’re not teenagers.” Stan tried to pry Richie’s hands away.

“Baby, you make me feel like a teenager,” Richie sung with a smile in his face. “And we’re here.”

Richie carefully positioned Stan in front of the restaurant before dropping his hands.

Stan’s eyes fluttered open and they locked on the sign, displaying the name of the restaurant. He placed his hands on his hips, giving Richie an amused look.

“Alright, where’s the McDonald’s you planned to take me to?” He didn’t seem mad at the idea of that, and Richie froze because _fuck, Stan knew him well enough to expect that_. He had honest to g–d considered doing something like that for a hot minute, but he eventually decided that someone as perfect as Stan deserved more than a prank-date.

“Nowhere.” Richie replied, “We have an eight o’clock reservation here babe, so let’s get a move on.”

Stan’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing light pink. “Richie,” He croaked weakly, as if he was about to start sobbing.

“Do you not like it?” Richie asked nervously, and Stan made a soft squeak noise.

“No! I like it, I’m just…” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Surprised. That’s all.”

“Good surprise?” Richie asked again, just to make sure.

Stan gave Richie another one of his rare smiles. “I’d like to say all of your surprises are good but you did surprise me with a hip injury recently.”

Richie laughed, “I guess that’s true.” Then he held out his hand for Stan to take, “C’mon, I wasn’t joking about the reservation.”

Stan fit their hands together, and Richie felt a jolt go down his spine. A silly, lovesick thought of ‘ _we fit together like Bev and Ben do_ ’ fluttered through Richie’s head for a moment before he forced it away.

He led Stan in and promptly embarrassed the blond as he ‘charmed’ the hostess. Stanley frowned and apologized to the hostess for Richie’s behavior, but he didn’t let go of his hand once.

Richie was ten times more obnoxious than usual, his nerves making him extremely unbearable. Anyone else would’ve ditched Richie in the restaurant, but sweet, patient Stanley just squeezed his hand and told him to calm down.

“I can’t help myself baby, you make me so crazy.” Richie answered using one of his better voices: a 50’s Greaser. Stanley smiled, his cheeks going red as he looked around before responding.

“Tell me about it, Stud.” Stanley didn’t even try mimicking Sandy’s voice, but it still made Richie die.

“Holy fuck, I love you.” Richie squeezed Stan’s hand tightly, feeling breathless. “I love you so much.”

Stan was shocked into silence. “I–” His voice cracked and he coughed, trying again. “What?”

Richie swallowed hard, feeling so anxious that he momentarily wished the ground would swallow him whole. Like hell he was going to back down though. “I said I love you Stanley.”

Stan went scarlett, chewing on his bottom lip. “Do you mean that?” He whispered, making Richie’s heart snap in two.

“Fuck, why wouldn’t I?” Richie laced their fingers together, feeling Stan’s heart beat speed up against his ring finger. “I’ve been smitten with you since you pushed me in that river.” 

Stan’s blush spread to his ears. “I didn’t mean to shove you that hard.”

“Stanley, I wouldn’t even care if it was on purpose. You could stab me in the liver and I’d still be head over heels.” Fuck this was scary. Why did no one warn him that love was fucking terrifying?

Stan let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Richie lifted his steak knife with his free hand. “En guarde, bitch.”

Stanley laughed louder then, leaning just a little bit over the table, like he wanted to be as close to Richie as humanly possible. “I love you too.”

Richie’s heard the words before, but they didn’t make his heart stutter any less. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing them. “I love you.” Richie repeated, because the flood gates were open and he didn’t know what else to say.

Stan merely smiled at him before flipping his menu open and gesturing at Richie to do the same– all without letting go of Richie’s hand.

Later on, Stan tried to split the bill and Richie physically wrestled the booklet from him, not caring about the stares he got from other tables. Stan was giggling and snorting and looked like he was finally free from the tension he seemed to hold twenty-four seven; so sue him for not giving a single shit about anyone else. As long as Stan was smiling, Richie was too.

On the walk back to the car, Stan leaned on him, holding Richie’s arm with both hands.

“I had a nice time tonight,” Stan murmured softly, his breath visible in the cold night air. “I always do when I’m with you.”

“Damn Stan, way to make a man’s heart melt into a puddle.” Richie blurted, throwing his arm over the blond’s shoulders.

Stan huffed quietly– his signature almost-laugh-but-not-quite. “I love you.”

Richie let out a shaky breath and internally cursed himself for getting thrown off. “I love you too. I’m glad you had a good time even though I was being supremely annoying.”

“You’re cute, so it makes up for it.” Stan smirked slightly, not even trying to lie. He pulled away and got into the passenger’s seat, buckling himself in. Richie scrambled to walk around the car to get behind the wheel. 

“Did you?”

Richie blinked at him, turning the key in the ignition until his shitty engine coughed to life.

“Have a good night I mean.” Stan added, looking out the window instead of facing him. He gingerly tucked a curl behind his ear when it fell in front of his eyes and Richie felt his mouth go a little dry.

“Of course I did, Stan my Man.” He glanced at the blond, who was glowing with the pale moonlight that filtered in through the cracked window. 

Fuck. Stanley looked good in any lighting, huh? Sunlight accents his curls, Moonlight accents his eyes and his skin– Richie really should’ve seen this coming since shitty bright white elevator lights made Stan look like some kind of God. 

“Literally every second with you is a gift. Tonight I nearly pinched myself because I swore it was a dream.”

Stan looked up at him shyly, and Richie’s breath was stolen from him again. He quickly regrouped.

“I didn’t want to risk it, because fuck, even if it was a dream I wouldn’t have wanted to wake up.”

Stan’s ice cold hands cupped his cheeks and then the blond surged forward to plant a kiss on Richie’s mouth. It wasn’t a quick peck like their first one, no, this one was so much better. Richie swore he could feel what little brain he had left melt out his ears.

Richie wrapped one arm around the blond’s waist, while his hand made a home in Stan’s meticulously brushed hair. He made a mess of it immediately but Stan didn’t seem to mind, if the soft pleased noises he was making into Richie’s mouth had anything to say about it.

Richie reluctantly pulled away after a moment, biting back a coy smile at the annoyed whine that slipped out of Stan’s throat.

“As much as I love making out in a Lawry’s parking lot like a couple of teens, a certain Mr. Kaspbrak is going to be very angry with me if I don’t get you home safe.”

Stan grumbled softly, absentmindedly brushing Richie’s bangs out of his eyes. “I bet he’s waiting at my door in a pink robe, with the curlers in his hair ‘n all.”

Richie cackled at the mental image and finally put the car into drive. “Stan the Man gets off a good one!”

“Not yet, I don’t.” Stan had a dark look in his eyes when he said it, his lips curling into a smirk at the end of it.

Richie choked on air as Stan had his own little laugh at the other man’s expense.

“No more sexy shit while I’m driving please Officer Uris, I need to get my lovebird home safe and sound.”

Stan went quiet then, his cheeks pinkening as he pouted.

When they pulled up to Stan’s apartment complex, Stan’s balcony was lit up indicating that Eddie was there. The blond only rolled his eyes at the sight, unbuckling his seatbelt before moving to get out of the car.

“Wait,” Richie said, making Stan stop. “Goodnight kiss?”

Stan rolled his eyes, leaning back into the car to give Richie another long kiss. Richie cupped Stan’s cheek and tilted his head to the side so they fit together better.

Thirteen year old Richie would be roasting him for turning into a movie cliché, where the couple shares one last tender kiss before they part for the night and all that mess, but present day Richie didn’t care about what that little shit would think.

He loved being a cliché. He loved becoming one of those assholes that called their partner their bestfriend during their wedding vows. He loved daydreaming about a cozy house with a white pickett fence and a large garden.

He loved Stanley Uris.

“Goodnight Rich, get home safe.” Stan murmured after pulling away. His suit looked rumpled in all the best ways.

“I have no say in the matter.” Richie countered.

Stan rolled his eyes, shutting the car door between them. “Die then.” After a few seconds, his lips pulled into a soft smile that he had tried holding back for the joke. 

Then the blond turned and started walking up the steps to the complex door. “Love you!” Richie shouted after him, slamming his car horn to be Extra Obnoxious.

“It’s eleven thirty you jerk!” Stan laughed, slipping inside his building soundlessly.

(11:31 PM) STANYIEL THE MANIEL: Love you too. Don’t die on the way home you crazy asshole. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And that concludes Lovebird! Honestly I’m a little sad that it’s over but I think if I continued this particular story I would’ve exhausted myself and ended up driving myself into a writing block or something of that nature. 
> 
> However, I don’t want to part with this AU or the dumb versions of these characters so— I’ve been working on a couple extra stories! This’ll be turned into a series (hopefully) and I’ll be able to continue writing the next story when my computer is fixed. Writing on my phone is plain uncomfortable and I hope y’all can understand the wait :)!
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoyed reading this dumb little thing as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> (Let me know in the comments if there’s anything from this AU you’d like me to expand on?)

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @holybeecoconut  
> im so sorry im a sucker for lawyer aus i had to do this.
> 
> One of my best friends has been so amazing with helping me on this fic! My mans is responsible for so many of the Iconic Richie moments and he helped me fill in all the gaps and edit when I had no clue how to continue the story! Please give him all the love he deserves that I can’t give him on my own! (Thank you)  
> Discord: @penis #8773  
> AO3: @homosexual_screaming


End file.
